


the best and the brightest

by snapchat



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Spider-Man Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, by side i seriously mean side like they're on the side, forgotten banchan, onesided seongwoo/minhyun, side 2hyun, side howons, sungwoon and gunhee are mentioned in excess, yunho and changmin are there??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapchat/pseuds/snapchat
Summary: Getting bitten by a radioactive spider apparently does very little to assuage the painstakingly awkward process that is falling in love.





	the best and the brightest

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of off-screen minor character death (death in the family).

On the hallowed grounds of the ever-prestigious Y University—

“THIS ISN’T EVEN PUNISHMENT—”

—there is a heavy emphasis on excellence, determination, and—

“ONE WOULD THINK YOU GUYS WOULD BE MORE CREATIVE BY NOW—”

And—

“THE HUMAN BODY HAS AN INCREDIBLE CAPACITY FOR ADAPTATION—”

 _And_ —

“IT’S CALLED A SURVIVAL INSTINCT—”

AND thinking outside of the box. 

“THE JOKE’S ON YOU GUYS REALLY,” Seongwoo says (shouts, bellows, screams—really all the same in the grand scheme of things), maybe a little too loudly from where he is currently suspended, upside down, from—it sounds even more difficult to believe when he has to reflect on his current position (read: _situation_ )—the ceiling of the lobby of the economics building. “AS A MATTER OF FACT, I LOVE DEFYING GRAVITY AND THE BLOOD RUSH TO MY HEAD MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE.” 

Ong Seongwoo: twenty-two years old, third year engineering student, former (one-time) (seriously one-time, like, barely a single time) youth Olympics competitor in artistic gymnastics (and yeah, he ranked last, but it was rigged and honestly, fuck everyone and anyone who didn’t appreciate his heart-wrenching routine set to Evanescence’s ‘Wake Me Up Inside’), and unabashed poster-child of thinking outside of the box.

A few students linger to take pictures of him, which is really flattering but admittedly not helpful in the slightest. Better still, the others ignore him altogether which is neither helpful _nor_ flattering. 

At this point, close to no one on this entire campus that isn’t a first-year is surprised. The students that loitered leave him to his own devices and Seongwoo mentally tallies yet another tardy that Professor Yim will most certainly harpoon his ass for. It’s a surprise to some that he hasn’t managed to flunk a single grade but Seongwoo has been relentless in making a name for himself (however unintentionally) since the day he enrolled. 

(That, and it’s kind of hard to fail a student that consistently ruins the curve for everyone else.)

There are a few monikers floating around for him, the man currently viewing the world upside down at least thrice a week: The Great and Mighty Ong Seongwoo, Seongwoo with the Good Hair, Adon(g)is, Y University’s Most Eligible Bachelor, _There He Goes Again, the Asshole That Stole My Girlfriend,_ _There He Goes Again, the Asshole That Made My Girlfriend Give Up on Romance_ , Y University Herald’s ‘Spider' (only the best reporter this university's ever seen and, admittedly, One of the Only Reporters the University Has Ever Seen) and the most notorious of all of them—

“Reporter Ong,” a familiar voice says in greeting, and Seongwoo can already sense half of a smile and more than a half of overflowing exasperation. “Back at it again and so, so soon.”

Seongwoo makes a noise, a hybrid between a scream and a stifled gurgle (mostly due to the blood rush accumulating in his head) as a response. 

“Hi,” he says flatly, jerking his ankle abruptly to try to, maybe in vain, rotate his body to face none other than his worst best friend. “If you’re not going to help me down, then please come back later. As you can see, I’m a little _tied up_.”

There’s a smile on Daniel’s lips that remains even as he lets out a soft, _tired_ sigh. “Not really the time to be cracking jokes,” he says with a shake of the head. 

“My humor’s effortless,” replies Seongwoo, and he tries to wink but he pops a blood vessel instead.

“Who was it this time?” Daniel asks, looking from side-to-side, gaze sweeping across the lobby before he shifts closer to Seongwoo, scanning the entire predicament to try to find a reasonable solution that will end in minimal concussive damage. “The last time I had to help you down from the ceiling, it was the theater kids, right?”

“Thespians,” Seongwoo corrects with a saccharine smile. “They would prefer to be called _thespians_. How do I know that? Because Lee Gunhee made that explicitly clear to me the last time he and his cronies suspended me from the ceiling.”

( _“If you’re going to write about us in your stupid, ugly, tabloid column,”_ Gunhee had said exactly one week and two days ago, _“then at least refer to us by the proper term.”_

And he had. Quite willingly, Seongwoo had referred to them as _thespians_ in his most recent article detailing the inherent bias in the theater department and how maybe Lee Gunhee getting the lead role in all of the department’s productions since his first year had _more_ to do with rumored underground mob ties and less to do with natural talent.

 _“Thanks,”_ Gunhee had sniffed approximately an hour and two minutes ago as Seongwoo twirled from the ceiling like a spinning top. _“At least you used the right term.”_ )

Daniel grunts, and by the grace of some certain God out there, manages to push Seongwoo up by the shoulders until he can reach his ankles. 

It’s smooth sailing from there: Seongwoo wriggles free, does an obnoxious flip in the air, lands on his two feet, and somehow maintains his meticulously styled hair with little damage. All while only shooting cobwebs out from the invisible spinnerets on his wrist a grand total of _zero times_.

“Still not used to that,” Daniel says with a bleary blink. 

“Me being a stellar acrobat on top of having incredibly nice hair?” asks Seongwoo. “Or the ‘hanging out from the ceiling’ thing?” 

“Couldn’t you have just done the—you know, _that_ , from the start?” He gesticulates broadly, waving his hand in Seongwoo’s general direction. “Instead of us playing hide-and-seek every week?” 

“There are cameras everywhere. It’d be weirder if I somehow managed to get out of being a human chandelier by myself. It’s way less suspicious when it looks like you helped me.” Seongwoo sighs, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his neck once. “The security guards get really spooked when I go around doing flips and shit. I'm just being an upstanding citizen and saving them the premature shock. _With great power comes great responsibility._ ” 

“Alright, Superman. Save the superhero talk for when you actually save someone from a burning building,” says Daniel. He pauses and then scratches his cheek. “Don’t, by the way. Please don’t dive into burning buildings.”

 _Too late_ , Seongwoo doesn’t say aloud. Much like the elderly men patrolling Y University, Daniel tends to be easily spooked in spite of his stature and for-the-most-part-relaxed demeanor. It’s Seongwoo’s duty as Best Friend™ to not cause unnecessary mental duress by going into explicit detail about all three-hundred-thousand risks and dangers he exposes himself to every single time he puts on his Spider-Man mask. 

The closest thing to justice he’s dealt as Ong Seongwoo, professional Best of Friends, is keeping the ‘part-Spider-part-man-part-nighttime-vigilante-and-part-keeper-of-Seoul’ shebang to himself. He’s told Daniel about the heightened acrobatic ability, and he figures that’s enough for now. There’s no reason to go into the nitty-gritty details. 

“Yes, dear,” Seongwoo sing-songs instead. He cracks his neck once more and lets out a groan when his head throbs, still not re-calibrated from who even _knows_ how long he spent hanging upside down. The perks of being half-spider, half-man are extensive, but apparently overcoming vertigo is not one of them. “You don’t have class?” 

“Not today.” 

“Why are you on campus then?” 

Daniel grins toothily and jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You know how you always say your _spidey senses_ are tingling whenever something’s about to go down?” 

_Not a joke,_ Seongwoo thinks to himself. It’s a legitimate sixth sense that is almost entirely responsible for his running total of six hours of sleep over the past four days. He doesn’t want to complain because it’s a legitimate sixth sense that is also entirely responsible for the real, living, breathing, people he’s saved.

When people ask why the dark circles under his eyes have multiplied in size, his go to response as of late has been, _“Uh, Overwatch?”_ and that’s usually that. 

“Yeah,” Seongwoo says instead.

He’s a grand total of twenty minutes late for class now, which is another way of saying that he might as well not go if he’s going to face certain death either way. 

Daniel lets out a content sigh. “I guess you could say I have _Seongwoo senses_ ,” he explains, the smile on his face widening ever-so-slightly, “and they were tingling.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His parents die when he’s barely four-years-old, and that’s sort of where everything begins.

The only reason why Seongwoo says _sort of_ is because he never really knew his parents, and whether that’s a blessing or a curse is still difficult to say—even almost twenty years later. 

But, if his life were a superhero film, that’s probably where everything would begin. 

A cinematic shot of him being hidden away beneath a bunch of sweaters in the corner of the closet, his mother saying, _“Umma will be back. You stay here, baby,”_ before the door shutters to a close. Everything fades to black, he cries quietly because he’s an obedient child and because there are monsters in the dark that’ll get him if he breathes too loudly. 

The only memories he has left of his parents are two gunshots, pitch black, and his formative years being shuttled between relatives. 

Then his aunt and his uncle scoop him into their arms when he’s eight-years-old and say, _“Do you want to join our family?”_ and he’s too shy, bitter, and wary to say yes, but they take him in anyway and for a long while, that’s the closest thing Seongwoo knows to happiness. 

(In between, a few inconsequential, insignificant things happen: he tests into the accelerated program at school and earns the attention of a couple of bullies that call him a variety of fun names ranging from _geek_ , _nerd_ , and _fucking loser_ ; he falls—literally, falls—in love with a guy that catches him when he gets pushed off of the bus and this is a guy by the name of _Hwang Minhyun_ ; his stupid reckless ass gets bitten by a radioactive spider while fleeing from the tour group to try to find a bathroom in SK Tech’s Seoul HQ; and all of this happens before he hits the tender age of eighteen.

With Kang Daniel as his witness since the tender age of eight-and-a-half, Seongwoo testifies to his shit-show excuse of puberty.)

Now, eighteen, this is where the story really begins. Not when he gets bitten by the spider that fills him with a sense of heroic entitlement, and not when he falls headfirst in love with a guy that barely knows his name. 

It starts when he’s swinging from rooftop to rooftop in Mapo-gu, thirty-minutes late to meeting his uncle at Itaewon Station Exit 4. Thirty minutes creeps into an hour; an hour into two, and by the time he’s finished justifying his tardiness by reasoning that, at the very least, he’s saved a grandma from being robbed and a kitten from a tall tree, he gets a call from his aunt and finds out that _“Your uncle is dead.”_

Eighteen is a good age for outbursts. It’s a good age for unhinged emotions and _figuring things out_ and going through extremes. Eighteen is a good age for experimenting, for seeking and—in a perfect world—finding all of the answers. 

What's the purpose of microbiology? Who decided to call the _Zoropsis spinimana_ ugly? Is love always supposed to hurt (physically)? What’s a teenager supposed to do when suddenly asked to shoulder the weight of the world?

_Why does loss cling to some people more than others?_

Seongwoo has a mark running down his arm from when he miscalculates a spider web and stumbles fourteen stories, landing dramatically inside of a bent-up dumpster. The spider in him doesn’t leave many scars but he keeps this one out of habit, and maybe it’s a nervous tic as well, the way he presses his fingers against his skin when it’s just-nearly-healed so it’ll stay marred. It’s a reminder, he supposes. He keeps his broken phone for the same reason and every now and then he’ll lock his bedroom doors and listen to the four voicemails his aunt left him all saying the same thing in increasing levels of hysteric urgency.

_“Seongwoo, Seongwoo, please pick up. It’s your uncle—he… I, I’m so sorry, Seongwoo. Your uncle was shot. He’s… He’s… dead.”_

(On the harder nights, he'll mouth along with her.)

At eighteen, he climbs onto the balcony of their tenth-story apartment and hugs his knees to his chest, gaze glued to a glittering Seoul skyline. The balcony window next door rattles; Daniel climbs out and sits down, wordless, only clearing his throat once when the wind gets too brisk. 

“It’s not your fault,” is the first thing Daniel says, followed by a shiver. “You can’t protect everyone.” 

Seongwoo remembers every little detail about that exact moment. The way his chest tightened, something akin to despair and grief and _hopelessness_ filling his lungs all at once. He remembers thinking, _you’re right_ and _but I hate that_. 

He remembers saying nothing, only letting out a helpless laugh and pretending not to hear Daniel murmuring, after tossing a jacket across the railing and over Seongwoo’s shoulders, “ _That’s not your responsibility._ ” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Picture: Above-average student innocently strolls down the halls of the Student Union Building, unsuspectingly considering lunch options and leading an upstanding life of righteousness or something. Said student handsomely turns the corner and is immediately jumped by Satan’s spawn himself, proceeding to drop his expensive iced Americano everywhere onto the floor.

“Which is why I think it’s really unfair that _I’m_ the one cleaning this when you should be the one on your knees begging me for my forgiveness.” Seongwoo rises from the floor with a grimace and tosses a handful of wadded-up paper towels into the trash can. He offers Jaehwan, Satan’s spawn himself, a forced smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaehwan says, exceedingly unapologetically. “You just looked really vulnerable in that moment so I thought I’d carpe diem and—”

“Jump me,” concludes Seongwoo. “Great. What do you want?”

“A favor?”

“For the last time,” Seongwoo says loudly, “I’m _not_ going to wrestle you naked.”

A few passersby stare at Jaehwan and whisper amongst themselves. The grin that Seongwoo’s wearing is hardly mirrored on Jaehwan’s face.

“Thanks for that,” Jaehwan grits out through a terse smile with too much teeth. “I hate you.”

“You’re welcome. So, what do you want? I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you aren’t here to buy me lunch, which means I’m really less than uninterested in whatever you have to ask of me.” 

“I’ll buy you lunch,” Jaehwan declares.

Seongwoo pauses. “See, now I’m just suspicious and wary. Did you do something? Break something of mine? Betray me? Get caught up in a Ponzi scheme?” 

“There’s a nuna in one of my classes. Kang Hanna. Great grades. Professor loves her. Goes to class. Signed me in for attendance at least twice. Is definitely the only person whose notes will get me to pass this class—”

“Is she in love with me or is she in love with Daniel?”

The grin on Jaehwan’s face widens in a sheepish ‘haha, you caught me’ sort of way that has Seongwoo rolling his eyes in unfiltered exasperation. 

“Dude.” 

“I already asked him and he turned me down in less than two seconds. You have to ask him again. For my honor.” Jaehwan inches closer. “Please.” 

“ _Dude_.”

Jaehwan grabs Seongwoo’s hands with his. “My grade is on the line,” he says, squeezing Seongwoo’s hands in earnest. “God Ong. The most handsome person I know. _Adongis._ ”

In spite of how little he wants to react, Seongwoo smiles bashfully anyway. “Oh, stop,” he says with a perhaps exaggerated laugh, wriggling free from Jaehwan’s grip to smack him on the shoulder. His expression falls back to neutrality. “But no, seriously. Stop. Isn’t there a guy that you’re trying to date that’s also similarly in this class? Might be worth a shot asking him to help you study? Eh? Eh? _Ehhhh_?”

“I’m trying to attract Sewoon with my charm, hyung, not blatantly showcase my inadequacies.” 

“Jaehwan, I hate to be the one to break this to you,” Seongwoo says, frowning as he clasps one hand over Jaehwan’s shoulder, “but Sewoon already knows you suck.”

“Fun fact, I hate you.” 

“That wasn’t fun at all. That was… hurtful.” 

Jaehwan lets out a frustrated noise—a healthy mix between a muffled scream and a battle cry. He proceeds his series of dramatics by dragging his hands down his face. “Can we sit down and talk about this like civilized adults?”

So, they do. Seongwoo lets Jaehwan drag him to the nearest vacant table in the lounge outside of one of the cafeterias. And they sit, much like civilized adults. It’s now well-past (maybe thirty minutes past) Seongwoo’s Ideal Lunch Time, he is hungry, and there’s no end in sight. Misery, evidently, loves company.

“As my friend,” Jaehwan begins after taking a sharp inhale. 

“Off to a great start.”

“As my _friend_ , I am asking you, from the bottom of my heart, to please be my wingman.” 

Seongwoo sinks back into his seat, slinging an arm across the back of it. “You’re serious about this,” he says, mostly to himself. “I don’t get why you think me asking Daniel is going to make a difference. This is Daniel we’re talking about. He hasn’t dated anyone since Jung Eunji broke his heart when he was nine. I remember it so vividly. We were on the jungle gym and she, hold your breath, _called him a cootie monster._ ” 

“Be _cause_ ,” Jaehwan huffs out, expertly ignoring Seongwoo's addendum and instead waving a hand aggressively in the air for emphasis, “it’s _you_?”

“You lost me at the fifth angry hand-twirl.”

The look Jaehwan gives him is a mix of patented exasperation and what might actually be _pity_. 

“Because Daniel likes—” He stops himself abruptly and clamps his eyes shut, exhaling in what Seongwoo recognizes as a halfhearted effort at reclaiming Zen. “On second thought," Jaehwan sighs, "maybe you have to figure your own sorry love life out before helping me with mine.”

And the real injustice about this entire situation is not that Jaehwan, despite wasting a solid forty-five minutes of Seongwoo’s precious (and expensive time), does not offer to buy Seongwoo lunch—

But that it is right then and there that a long-dormant lightbulb at the back of Seongwoo’s mind fizzles with what might be the first step toward an epiphany. 

_Wait, what?_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I just think it’s weird,” Seongwoo explains with a long sigh. “Doesn’t it kind of seem like he’s implying that I have a love life? And even weirder—doesn’t it seem like he’s implying that, of all people, my _best friend_ is somehow involved in it? Like, okay, sure. A love life would be great. You remember my crush, right? I brought him up last time. Would love to marry him. That’d be great. But what the fuck does my best friend have to do with that?”

The guy that Seongwoo—er, _Spider-Man_ —has hanging upside down by spider web from the storefront of a Krispy Kreme offers an empathetic nod. 

“Am I overthinking it? Do you think I’m overthinking it? I might be overthinking it.” 

“Hey, if it bothers you, it bothers you.” 

“You’re right. It just kind of feels like my friend is implying that my best friend is in love with me and I’m not sure how I’d feel about that. I was just trying to eat lunch and live my life, and he comes in out of nowhere and decides if he's miserable, I have to be miserable too? Kind of fucked up, don't you think?” 

The blaring of police sirens and the familiar display of blue and red lights hit Seongwoo’s senses out of left-field. He almost forgets he was in the middle of apprehending a criminal.

“Anyway, dude,” Seongwoo says in the most authoritative Spider-Man voice he can muster, “we’ve got to stop meeting like this. Stop trying to mug people outside of Krispy Kreme. I don't know what it is you're going through but you need new hobbies. Or new friends. Friends that don't encourage you to commit petty crime.”

“We’ll take it from here, Spider-Man,” Officer Shim says from behind, patting Seongwoo on the shoulders in true surrogate-dad fashion. 

“Alright, see you—well, no. I better _not_ see you later. If I catch you harassing people again, I’m going to make you _buy_ a Krispy Kreme franchise and then you’ll see how bad jerks like you are for business.” Seongwoo hops up atop a street lamp and juts his arm out, just about ready to retire for the night. He salutes once to Officer Shim. “Good night, dad." He freezes. "Wait, what? I, oh my god. I have to get home. My mind’s deteriorating because of fucking Kim Jaehwan," he mutters to himself. 

“Spider-Man?” Officer Shim calls out uncertainly as Seongwoo makes his great escape. 

“Leave him,” he hears the crook say. “Poor kid’s got too much on his plate.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Ong Seongwoo**

hey u up?

 

**Kim Jaehwan**

I thought u were above booty calls

 

 **Ong Seongwoo**  
1\. i have negative interest in ur booty  
2\. WHAT booty u pancake ass  
3\. tell me what u meant at lunch 

 

 **Kim Jaehwan**  
Lmao I knew it  
I told Sewoon I knew it  
Hold on

 

Seongwoo’s phone vibrates. He has one new text message from **Jung Sewoon.**

 

 **Jung Sewoon**  
hi hyung. he knew it. 

 

 **Ong Seongwoo**  
sewoon u sweet summer child what do u see in him 

 

His phone vibrates again. This time it’s Jaehwan.

 

**Kim Jaehwan**

Maybe I’d tell u if u did me a favor………

 

**Ong Seongwoo**

as ur wingman i recommend  
texting sewoon about UR FEELINGS instead of about MY PERSONAL LIFE

 

**Kim Jaehwan**

This is the worst booty call I’ve ever gotten 

 

 **Ong Seongwoo**  
i’m gonna send sewoon a booty call  
u have made urself an enemy 

 

**Kim Jaehwan**

???????????????? What the fuck

 

And it is Seongwoo’s true and honest intention to mess with Jaehwan in this way—with full disclosure to Sewoon, of course—but karma has a different idea. 

In the midst of typing out a text message to Sewoon, while simultaneously swiping away notifications of Jaehwan’s ensuing text-spam ( _'???????? HYUNG??????' 'HELLOOO ARE U REALLY????' 'Dude pls dont I didnt mean to start a war I just wanted u to let me in (Miley Cyrus)'), Seongwoo accidentally accepts a call from none other than Kang Daniel himself._

__

It’s not that he’s avoiding Daniel (he isn’t), but Seongwoo isn’t the type to pick up calls off the bat and for a second, he panics. He’s been avoiding calls from his aunt ever since he moved out of their apartment and his heart doesn’t quite calm down even after his brain has processed the _Niel!!!_ written atop his phone screen. 

“Holy shit,” Seongwoo breathes into the receiver at the same time that Daniel says, “That was _quick_.”

Seongwoo steadies a hand over his chest. He’s lying on his bed, Spider-Man suit still on and the mask discarded somewhere on his floor. The lights aren’t even on. He’s been home for all of thirty minutes and he’s already had heart attack #9238495843 of the night.

“I’m so used to hearing your voicemail,” Daniel says with a laugh. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s only midnight,” Seongwoo replies. “You interrupted me while I was writing a really elaborate booty call.” 

Unsurprisingly, Daniel is quiet. He laughs again a beat later and whether his laughter is a defense mechanism or because he genuinely thinks Seongwoo is the funniest thing to walk this planet is still a bit of a mystery. 

“To Minhyunnie hyung?” 

This time, _Seongwoo_ laughs—too loudly and in a burst, out of surprise. “Dude,” he says, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “Be real for a second. As if.”

“What?” And then, a little softer: “You moved on to someone else then?”

Seongwoo stifles another snicker. “Never mind that. Why’d you call?”

Daniel flounders for a few seconds, like he can’t decide whether to pry or to give up and move on. It’s late and the likelihood of Seongwoo falling asleep on the phone is higher than not, so Daniel very wisely chooses to move on. 

“My mom told me to call,” explains Daniel. “She wanted me to remind you that you have dinner plans with her tomorrow—well, today, I guess, if it’s past midnight. I meant to call earlier but I forgot, so I’m calling now.”

“It’s midnight,” Seongwoo emphasizes. “Just admit you wanted to hear my voice, Daniel. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” 

“You’re ridiculous. See you tomorrow?” 

“See you in my dreams, lover boy.” 

"Ridiculous." Daniel’s smiling with his voice and Seongwoo can very nearly picture it in his head when he says, “Good night, hyung.”

After that, he forces himself out of bed and strips himself of his superhero disguise, donning a pair of normal civilian pajamas a moment later. He stumbles in the dark a little—bangs his knee against the corner of his desk and very nearly topples gracelessly onto his bed in the midst of his winces and groans of pain, one hand wrapped around his phone and the other around his mask. 

He’s tried to make it a habit not to look at his phone before bed (there was an article circulating Facebook a while back: _Ten Habits Billionaires Have_ and this happened to be one of them) but Seongwoo makes an exception this time just to confirm the date.

So it’s true. 

“Four years ago today,” Seongwoo murmurs to himself, lifting his mask into the air and squinting at it. “Time's been flying by, uncle.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His father was a journalist. 

That’s his primary explanation when people ask _why?_

(Most people are polite about asking, but the general message is always clear and resounding: _Why are you, an engineering student, writing burn-book articles for a dying school newspaper?_ )

The truth is that his father was more than a journalist. Seongwoo remembers stories from the nights when uncle was pleasantly tipsy from one too many bottles of soju, how he’d regale tales of heroism and martyrdom and justice. He’d look at Seongwoo, glossy-eyed, and say, _“You know, your dad was a real modern-day hero.”_

His father tackled hard stories—the things no one wanted to confront. And people hated him for it. 

_“But he never gave up,”_ uncle would say. The alcohol would fill his eyes to the brim with tears (always the alcohol, nothing else). _“He kept fighting to find out the real story behind who killed your grandfather and you know what? He did. He told the world. He died a hero.”_

So, at eighteen, Seongwoo retires his brief stint of locking himself up in his bedroom and decides he has footsteps to follow and if they're going to be anyone in this world at all's, they’re going to be his dad’s. He’ll find out who did it. Find out who killed his parents and tell the world. He’ll be a hero too—not because he wants the glamor or the fame, but because there’s a part of him, small but insatiable, that needs more than just time to heal his wounds. 

It’s a little side project at first. All he does is write articles that end up being more like call-out posts, a laundry list of receipts about Y University’s Big Names that no one else wants to write or publish under their own name. The school paper’s all but forgotten these days, but Seongwoo sticks with it even when their office shifts from a legitimate office in his first year to Basically a Broom Closet in his third. 

After a while, the motive changes and it ends up being a hobby. When Seongwoo decides that his tribute to heroism and dad’s great feats of sacrifice is going to be singlehandedly through donning a red mask everyone attributes to _Spider-Man_ , being a journalist becomes less of a job and more of a lifeline. It’s how he remembers that, mask and embarrassingly-comfortable-spandex suit aside, he’s still a boy, a university student, and a humdrum run-of-the-mill idiot in the middle of Seoul. 

Dad would be proud. Maybe. He’s figuring things out for himself and having fun while he’s at it. There’s a part of him that’s still desperate to find out the circumstances of his parents’ and his uncle’s deaths but there’s another part of him that thinks, _“Maybe that’s not my job.”_

He remembers finding it kind of funny. 

His lineage is a dark one and he keeps his lips tight when people ask because there’s a welcome sort of pity that gets you free _kimbap_ and then an unwelcome sort of pity that follows you in saccharinely sympathetic gazes and whispers. 

(By twenty-one, Seongwoo becomes remarkably well-versed at distinguishing the two.)

 _Death must be in our blood,_ he’d joke to himself. How else would anyone explain tragedy after tragedy after tragedy?

And the tiny voice at the back of Seongwoo’s mind, too-frail to be noticeable and too-present to be a mere tendril of wind, would reply, _It’s in everyone’s._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His day goes by without a hitch. By now, everything happens according to a schedule—something sacred that Seongwoo’s practiced four years in a row. 

1\. All classes, regardless of how important, get skipped in favor of Seongwoo making a bi-yearly visit back _home_ to spend time with his aunt. She chastises him with tears in her eyes for being too busy and he pretends he hasn’t been pushing her away on purpose. 

When they hug, her tears fall. By the time they separate, she will have wiped them away. Neither of them say anything. That’s ritual. 

2\. Hours are spent on the old balcony after a couple of prayers have been made. It’s stupid and childish, but when he closes his eyes, he thinks that he might feel his family’s ashes in the air. 

_They’re here,_ he thinks to himself. _They’re really there,_ he thinks to himself. _They never left._

3\. He and his aunt always have dinner next door with the Kang family. Daniel’s mother cooks too much for five people and Seongwoo and Daniel break personal records in plates cleared and belt buckles loosened. Daniel always beats Seongwoo because his stomach grows more and more bottomless by the year and Seongwoo spites him by hiding his favorite jellies.

4\. And then, this: 

“You could stay the night,” his aunt says, a wavering smile on her lips as she tugs the sweater around her shoulders a little tighter. She gets smaller and smaller by the year and it's terrifying. They’re loitering in the hallway of their floor—her floor. “I haven't touched your room.” 

Seongwoo mirrors her smile, stronger, brighter, and lets out a long sigh. “I wish I could,” he says, lathering on theatrics extra thick because he’s still stupidly filial like this, still stupidly afraid of hurting anyone’s feeling. “I have class early tomorrow though and I’ll get in trouble if I’m late.” 

Both of them know it’s a lie but this, too, is ritual—pretending nothing has changed and that their worlds haven’t grown dramatically distant. 

He can't sleep in that room though. Can't reasonably sleep anywhere in that house when his body’s always on alert at home. 

_I’m bad luck,_ he wants to explain, but Seongwoo’s aunt has had her heart broken too many times now and he doesn’t want to test the limits. 

“Alright,” she replies, reaching out to pat his cheek. “Let me know when you get back to your _one room_. It was good seeing you, Seongwoo. Call more often.” 

He gives her a quick hug and then stumbles back two steps, lifting a hand in farewell and using the other to press against the elevator button. “Go inside. It’s cold.” He drops his hand. “Good night, auntie.”

The doors slide to a close and Seongwoo presses his back against the wall of the elevator. Closes his eyes. Lets out an exhale. 

His knees feels weak—his entire body feels weak. It’s not that being with his aunt drains him, but being around his family makes him unnecessarily paranoid. Anxiety spikes, and suddenly he’s wondering all over again if the common factor in every loss he’s ever experience might actually, legitimately be him. 

Seongwoo inhales. Exhales. 

And 5. 

Daniel’s waiting at the entrance of the apartment building, shoulders hunched up and body thinly and barely shielded from winter’s cold, per usual. The weather isn’t so kind that wearing a tracksuit is going to do anything, but Daniel is incorrigible and Seongwoo kind of appreciates his consistency. 

“This is why you catch the worst colds,” Seongwoo says in greeting. “Walking me home today?”

“I was going to go to the convenience store,” Daniel explains, words coming out stiff and disjointed, as they often do whenever he tries to lie. “The station’s on the way.” 

“You’re only going to walk me to the station?” Seongwoo teases. “Not all the way to my place?”

Consternation flashes in and out of Daniel’s eyes. “Who knows,” he says robotically. “Maybe I left something on campus.” 

"You’ve been reading your mom’s ladies magazines again, haven’t you? Mysterious men are the new trend these days.” 

Daniel lets out a disgruntled noise before it ebbs into laughter. 

They walk in silence after that, shoulders just inches apart and both of them training their gazes on the dimly lit road before them. 

There’s no way of gauging where this conversation will go if Seongwoo musters up the courage to bring it up, but it’s now or never. Jaehwan will thank him for it and the worst that could happen is Daniel saying no. 

“So,” Seongwoo starts, “Jaehwan said that there’s someone in his class that thinks you’re cute.”

Daniel glances warily at Seongwoo from over the collar of his Adidas zip-up. “Yeah,” he replies. “He mentioned it.” 

“But, uh, you’re not interested?”

There’s a bench at the outskirts of the neighborhood and Daniel’s the first to take a seat. Seongwoo follows suit immediately. 

“Not really,” Daniel confesses as soon as he sits down. “I don’t know this person and they don’t know me.” 

“I guess,” Seongwoo replies with a yawn. It’s only been a few years since he moved out and away from the apartment complex, but he’s already feeling a little nostalgic sitting on this particular bench. He’s reminded of summer nights spent eating Melona while swatting at persistent mosquitoes. 

“Why’d you bring this up?” asks Daniel. 

For some reason, a nagging sensation at the bottom of Seongwoo’s heart almost makes him change his mind. It feels weird, suddenly, talking about this. It feels weird and strangely wrong and uncomfortable—not for Daniel, but for _Seongwoo_. He doesn't know this girl. Sure, he trusts Jaehwan, but something doesn't sit right with him.

Part of him doesn’t want to push Daniel for reasons that are growing more and more difficult to identify by the second. 

He shrugs them off. “Maybe you should give it a try,” Seongwoo says. He bites his lower lip and taps his fingers against the fabric of his jeans. “You can’t know how you feel about her until you meet her, right?” 

The bad feeling in Seongwoo’s gut twists and turns violently.

Daniel doesn’t respond, only kicks at the ground with the heel of his shoe, gaze glued dully to the cement. 

“You really think so?” Daniel asks, softer. There’s a twinge of hurt in his voice and he sounds vaguely upset, like he was expecting, hoping for, something different. 

“If you want to?” Seongwoo rubs his arm, fingers pressing against an age-old scar—nervous tic. “Jaehwan’s judgment is kind of weird, I guess. Maybe you shouldn’t trust it. I mean, he also seems to think that you’re in love with me, so it’s worth remembering that there are plenty of fish in the sea that aren’t recommended by Kim Jaehwan.” 

He expects laughter. Genuine or out of pity, Seongwoo expects laughter. 

He doesn’t get either. 

What Seongwoo gets is an eerie sort of silence that draws his attention to Daniel’s face and what he finds is something he’s very rarely seen on Kang Daniel: sincere _anxiety_. 

“He said that?” 

“What?” 

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a second. He looks out and away from Seongwoo and swallows thickly. “He said that I’m in love with you?”

Seongwoo parts his lips, tries to find some choice words to say that won’t fan a fire he thinks he might have accidentally lit. “Not—not verbatim. I mean, we were just joking around.” He laughs and it comes out too forced, too reedy. “Don’t worry, dude, no one actually thinks you're in love with me. That's ridiculous.” He’s speaking a mile a minute now, looking to the ground and then to the sky and then to parking lot. “We’re just friends. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows we’re just friends.” 

It’s like Daniel can sense Seongwoo’s worry. He lets out a tiny sigh, followed by a faint chuckle. “I’m not mad, hyung,” he says. “I know he was kidding.” And then, even quieter: “I know we’re just friends.” 

And it’s strange because choosing to ignore the blatant truths, lingering unspoken, between them is something Seongwoo is accustomed to doing with his aunt; it’s something like tradition.

But with Daniel, it’s the opposite, and there’s a lie laced somewhere in Daniel’s tone that fills Seongwoo’s heart with something sinking and heavy and he doesn’t know why. 

“I’ll think about it,” Daniel continues. 

“Think about it,” echoes Seongwoo. “Think about it?” 

_Think about being in love with me?_

“About the date?” 

“Oh.” Seongwoo laughs uneasily and contemplates five-thousand different places he could book a flight ticket to tomorrow to avoid acknowledging the feeling in his chest that might literally and for Some Fucking Reason be disappointment. “Right. Yeah. You should think about it.” 

It’s not Seongwoo’s character to spite his friends but the first thing on his to-do list for tomorrow is to ruin Jaehwan’s life for making Seongwoo second-guess every single aspect of his already sorry love life. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Right, okay, so I’m thinking it’s just, uh, like protective instinct? Maybe? You know? When you find out that your younger sibling—I’m really sorry, I actually have no idea if you have siblings or not because we don’t really talk about this—is dating or something and you’re like, ‘wow, that’s terrible and I want to set the world on fire to protect my precious family from the dangers of a broken heart’?”

Officer Shim looks up from the handcuffs he is very roughly clasping around the wrists of a criminal. The mild exasperation in his face is overshadowed only by what could potentially be wholehearted concern. 

"I, uh, I don't know what I'm saying anymore. See, I literally did not even consider the possibility of me having quote-on-quote _feelings_ for my best friend until my other friend brought it up and then the weird encounter yesterday happened. Now I’m haunted by it. Officer Shim, I’m literally haunted by it. It seems ridiculous and implausible but now I'm doubting myself. I’m too young to be plagued by the ghosts of yesteryear. I’m too young to be going through love struggles already.” Seongwoo lets out a long sigh. “Maybe I should just pretend nothing happened. It just, uuuuuggggh. It felt like we had more to talk about but neither of us wanted to talk and—”

“Spider-Man,” Officer Shim interjects calmly.

Seongwoo pauses. "Yeah?"

“Please take tonight off.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jaehwan is unrepentant, to no one’s surprise. 

Seongwoo, in particular, is especially unsurprised. And as his _samgak kimbap_ falls to pieces because of his haphazard out-of-order peeling of the wrapper, he thinks, with perhaps too much feeling, that the world is filled with metaphors. 

His meal falling to shambles is one of them. A sad metaphor for his life. 

“I’m doing you guys a favor,” Jaehwan says, reaching across the table to tear off a piece of seaweed from the mess that is Seongwoo’s life in cheap-breakfast-form. “Trust me.”

“You don’t even know what I’m angry about,” Seongwoo huffs, swatting Jaehwan’s hand away from his food. “All I said was, ‘I hate you and your ugly KakaoTalk stickers.’”

“That’s Seongwoo-speak for ‘This is about Daniel,’ isn’t it?” 

He has no words. Jaehwan, surely, takes it as a personal victory.

“I think he’s mad at me,” Seongwoo says as nonchalantly as he can manage, sliding over the plastic graveyard in front of him to Jaehwan. He’s not hugely picky when it comes to food but his might-as-well-be- _bibimbap_ gets more unappetizing by the second as his mind continuously makes parallels to his life. “He should be mad at you but I, a foolish and selfless soul, sacrificed myself and now I think he’s mad at _me_.”

“Why would he be mad at you?” 

Seongwoo aggressively pierces the silver foil of his melon milk with the plastic straw. “Because I told him to date some girl neither of us know anything about?”

“He wouldn’t get angry about that,” Jaehwan says. He rolls his eyes. "Annoyed, maybe, but angry? Fat chance."

“Okay, then maybe because I basically asked him to his face if he was in love with me?”

Jaehwan bursts into a coughing, hacking fit at that. A single rice grain lands on Seongwoo’s cheek and Seongwoo briefly contemplates homicide out of sheer disgust before uttering a five-second prayer and opting, instead, to wipe it off as nondescriptly as possible. 

_See that, God?_ he asks to no one in particular. _Please remember that when karma does its thing._

“You _what_?” Jaehwan demands, in between coughs. 

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“Hyung,” Jaehwan says, disbelieving smile on his lips, “you’re so fucking foolish.” 

Seongwoo covers his face with his hands. "I’m alone in this cold, cold world.” He inhales sharply. “I have no one loyal to call my friend. Kim Jaehwan is the worst.” 

“This is hilarious,” Jaehwan announces. “Hilarious, but sad.” 

“My three-word autobiography.” 

“When I told you to get your love life in order,” begins Jaehwan, “I didn’t mean to start by demolishing it into nothing. You’re taking ‘back to basics’ too seriously.” 

“Got a good concept. Hear me out, okay?” 

“Ears open.”

“Okay. Actually give me advice instead of reminding me that I’m an idiot.”

Jaehwan hums. “Tempting,” he says. “Would be more tempted if you bought me lunch.”

“I’m eating lunch with Daniel today,” Seongwoo replies with an exceedingly fake smile. “My deepest apologies.”

“Invite me? I’m great company.”

“Fake friends aren’t allowed.”

“This is third wheel discrimination. I won’t stand for it.” Jaehwan reaches across the table to swipe Seongwoo’s carton of milk. He leans back in his seat and takes an unnecessarily long sip. “So, what exactly is your question?”

Seongwoo stares at Jaehwan, dead-eyed. 

“Questions,” Jaehwan amends. “With an S.”

“What did you _mean_?” 

It’s too early for cryptic messages woven into eyebrow waggles and tongue twisters, and Seongwoo is too tired and too confused—in more than one way—to try to decipher any more of these secrets that everyone except for him seems to be patently aware of.

Jaehwan seems to be sympathetic enough today. He lets out a tiny sigh, the teasing grin on his face from moments prior ebbing away into something sober. “Alright, listen up. A lot of people out there are afraid of ruining friendships with feelings,” he starts to say. “Sometimes a mutual fear of this can result in a friendship where everyone in the world thinks something should seriously happen but the two people in question are too scared to even imagine it.” 

The entire lounge suddenly seems silent and Seongwoo tries, perhaps in vain, to filter out the white noise and make sense of Jaehwan's wisdom.

“So, you’re implying,” Seongwoo begins, “that Daniel and I are both secretly in love with each other.”

Jaehwan sucks the straw loudly. He raises his brows suggestively. 

“Okay.” Seongwoo looks at the ceiling. “That’s fucking ridiculous.” 

Or so he’d like to think.

"You're ridiculous," Seongwoo concludes. "Why am I here."

But it’s less ridiculous than it should ideally be, and Seongwoo isn’t sure if that’s something he wants to admit out loud. 

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Jaehwan says with a shrug. “I'm just saying that it happens. Sometimes, you catch yourself going out of your way to make someone happy and it hits you, way too late, that, haha, oh, right, you're in love with them."

"Ridiculous," Seongwoo enunciates.

“Someday, you’ll thank me.” 

Seongwoo scoffs and closes his eyes. “Someday in your dreams.” 

He has his doubts but Seongwoo's pretty set on going with _Jaehwan is fucking ridiculous_ and moving on with his life.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Daniel’s never late. 

Or, well, he is very often late, but he’s never late _without notice_. 

Seongwoo glances at the time on his digital watch and then double-checks it on his phone. There’s no doubt about it. 

Daniel is an hour and six minutes late, and the last text Seongwoo got from him clocked in three hours ago, asking _What should we eeeeeaaaattttt_. 

He frowns, wonders to himself if something catastrophic happened. Seongwoo drums his fingers against each other before unlocking his phone screen to dial Daniel’s number.

“Hey,” he says as soon as the dial tone clicks. 

“Hello?” Daniel greets too loudly into the phone. “Hyung? Sorry, my hands are kind of full right now—ow, fuck!” There’s a clattering noise followed by the sound of Daniel hissing in pain. “Did you need something?”

Seongwoo blinks. “Uh, well. Didn’t you say you wanted to grab food, like—” He glances at his watch again. “An hour and seven minutes ago?” 

He gets radio silence.

“Not that I’m counting,” Seongwoo adds abruptly, because for some reason, he’s feeling more self-conscious than usual. “Eight minutes now, by the way.” 

“Shit,” Daniel groans. “I, uh, sorry! I’ll catch you later. Is that okay? I just—” Something thuds. “I’m okay!” 

"... Daniel?"

“I just—” Another thud, followed by a crash. Something clatters in succession and Seongwoo thinks they might be books cascading onto the floor. “I lost my wallet,” Daniel says, words coming out in a breathless stream. “I’m, haha, I’m kind of freaking out? All of my cards are in there. My ID is in there. I have very important— _ow_!” 

“Cancel your cards,” Seongwoo says. “And you can get a new ID. Cash—well, cash can’t be helped but, I mean, everything else is replaceable. It’ll be okay, dude. Chill.” 

All he hears is the sound of Daniel rummaging through more things. “Not everything,” he says through a sigh. “God, I… I have to find it. I’ll text you later, okay? I’m sorry about lunch. I just, I need to find it.”

The conversation cuts to nothing. 

Seongwoo stares at his phone.

He stares out at the expanse before him.

He stares at the ceiling.

“Did I just get stood up?” he asks the world. “By Kang Daniel?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It comes to Seongwoo’s attention that Daniel stands everyone up in favor of hunting down a wallet that is probably lost deep in the crevices of Seoul.

Comforting? Yes. 

Worrying? A little bit. 

He has to wonder what, exactly, Daniel kept in his wallet for it to be so incredibly valuable beyond the items that can be replaced. And if Daniel were able to be contacted, Seongwoo might ask. 

_“I saw him on campus a little while ago,”_ Jaehwan had said earlier. _“Looked like a hurricane swallowed him whole, spit him out, and left him to get hit by a tornado and every other natural disaster in the world. Does he keep his life’s savings in his wallet or something?”_

Technically speaking, Seongwoo has done all that he possibly can as a Certified Best Friend by offering moral support and also offering reasonable, rational, logical alternatives to an otherwise distressing situation. He isn’t obligated to do anything beyond being present and available in case Daniel needs another pep talk and assurance that the world isn’t going to end. This is probably the most he'd offer in terms of 'help' to anyone else if they were in a similar situation.

All of that being said, TECHNICALLY SPEAKING, Seongwoo is not acting as Seongwoo right now, but as Spider-Man. 

And Spider-Man is a vigilante that simply cannot stand to see his townspeople (Kang Daniel?) suffer.

Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself when he sneaks into the security box at Wangsimri Station and manages to catch a glimpse of footage detailing an unsuspecting Kang Daniel getting pickpocketed by a dude he’s most definitely seen loitering in the shadier parts of Itaewon. 

Seongwoo swings from rooftop to rooftop and thinks, very humbly, that he is too good for this cursed world. 

He nearly stumbles and falls when Jaehwan's voice echoes at the back of his mind and he has to make up excuses for why this doesn't qualify as _going out of his way to make Daniel happy._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Okay, so. 

Yes, there are better and more important things Seongwoo should probably be doing (studying for finals, studying for finals, studying for finals, just to name the top three) right this second that don’t require him to put on his superhero costume. 

However. 

“CAN YOU!” 

However—

“PLEASE!”

 _However_ —

“STOP!”

HOWEVER,

Seongwoo chooses to take an L on this one and mark it as one of many follies of youth, because as much as he’d like to pretend that he is an impartial and unbiased vigilante, sometimes, personal matters can be a Little More Persuasive Than Not—and this is one of those times.

The wind is merciless today and his body is still aching from when he sprinted to class in the morning to make a final that he thought he was late for (but had actually taken yesterday). In the very near distance, he can catch sight of the asshole that he’s identified as the thief of Kang Daniel’s wallet. 

“HEY!” Seongwoo shouts after him. It might be high time to stop shouting considering the crook isn’t really showing any signs of listening to Seongwoo’s verbal pleas, but he is nothing if not a man of obstinacy. 

Foolish, foolish obstinacy.

He'll wake up tomorrow with a sore throat and a giant binder full of notes he should already (but won't) have read and think, _"I am regret."_ But it’s not really procrastination if he’s doing a good deed, right?

The wind slaps him in the face. Hard. And that’s a reply from the karmic forces of the world if Seongwoo’s ever felt one. 

With much futility, Seongwoo barrels himself forward in spite of the currents and blindly aims a web at his target. He misses. So he tries again. And again, and again, and again until the web latches onto a brick wall at the end of the alley and one slight misstep has Seongwoo ricocheting through the air and slamming straight into said brick wall.

Great.

Things could be worse, he figures. For example, he could be sprawled out in a heap on the floor in front of a classic comic book villain with _two_ guns instead of one! _'Count your blessings, Ong Seongwoo, you lucky boy!'_ Which is to say that tonight might literally be his last night on earth and making sarcastic remarks about the murky future probably isn’t the best way to cope.

“Haha,” Seongwoo says in greeting, looking squarely at the barrel of the gun that Wallet Thief is aiming at him. It's not the greatest view in the world. Might actually be a solid contestant for one of the worst views in the world. “Hiya.” 

“I’ll shoot,” is the first thing the thief says. He waves his gun threateningly for emphasis, which Seongwoo has to say is more than unnecessary. “I’ll shoot if you try anything!”

“Whoa, whoa. Hey now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves! This is such good weather for a nice, reasonable talk, don’t you think? Great weather for some negotiation…” 

The gun inches closer.

“Okay,” Seongwoo exhales out. “Not great weather. Got it. You hate this weather. That’s fair. You know what? Fuck this weather, man. I hate it too.” 

“It’s loaded,” the guy says, eyes wide and voice trembling. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m not going to jail—not again.” 

“Just—” Seongwoo breathes in sharply and lifts his hands up. “You took my friend’s wallet. I just wanted to get it back for him. It’s nothing personal. The police don’t have to get involved—”

The thief fumbles with his back pocket and procures what Seongwoo recognizes as Daniel’s wallet. He tosses it to the ground and kicks it forward until it thuds against Seongwoo’s knee and lands quietly in front of him. 

“You’re going to let me go,” he says, taking baby steps back, eyes unmoving from Seongwoo’s kneeling figure. “You’re going to let me go and we’re not going to mention this to anyone.”

And see, Seongwoo would, if he were wearing his Normal University Student outfit, agree, all while trying not to piss himself on the spot, to let this guy go without mentioning a thing. 

The only issue is that he isn’t a regular Seoul citizen right now. He’s wearing a red suit that everyone and their mother recognizes as something more than _just_ a man masquerading as a spider, and it’s unfortunate but true that that’s all Seongwoo needs to muster up the courage to play superhero. 

His spinnerets are low on silk-fiber and as much as he likes to pretend he’s near-indestructible, his entire body is still aching tenfold all over from every single ill-fated collision he made on his way down from the wall. 

That being said, rationality must have been knocked out of him by the wind, because Seongwoo doesn’t even think twice when he lunges forward to tackle the guy to the ground. 

What happens next is a bunch of stray gunshots, some yelling, a ton of profanity, and it takes a little while, but about thirty minutes later, all there’s left to the entire debacle is a bunch of police sirens and Officer Shim coming in slick with the handcuffs. 

“You’re bleeding,” Officer Shim says, brows furrowing in concern. 

“I am?” Seongwoo blinks and the adrenaline dies out immediately after. He feels the wound then and lets out a hefty expletive, reaching up to grip his left shoulder. “I mean, uh, I’m good!”

It hurts like a bitch now but he’ll be fine in a few hours, maybe a few days at most. A bullet must have grazed him on his shoulder and maybe this is the world telling him to keep his personal affairs out of his job. He’s already got a scar on this one. The least the world could have done is get him on the _other_ arm instead of screwing symmetry over. 

“Let me know if you need medical attention.”

“I’ll be fine,” Seongwoo says. “Scout’s honor. Perks of being a spider include regeneration or something.” 

Officer Shim doesn’t look convinced. “You’re not invincible, Spider-Man.” He reaches out to clasp a hand over Seongwoo’s good shoulder. “It’d do you well not to forget that.” 

His stomach does that weird twisty-turny thing again and Seongwoo’s starting to associate gastric pain with soul-crushing-ly heavy truths. He’s at a loss for words for a second. It’s only when he remembers the wallet still clenched in one of his hands that he realizes this is his ticket out.

“I’ll be on my way then.” He musters up a web and heaves himself up against the very same wall he crashed into earlier. Seongwoo salutes Officer Shim and the other police offers congregating around the criminal. In a moment’s hesitation before Seongwoo takes off, he stills. “Oh, and, uh, Officer Shim?” 

“Yes?”

Seongwoo clears his throat. For the first time in a long time, he wishes he could take his mask off and say this face-to-face. “Thank you for the reminder.” 

“You’re welcome, Spider-Man.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

From where he is perched on the rooftop of the apartment building, he can see Daniel clearly. 

He’s dribbling a basketball around one of the vacant tennis courts near the complex, figure barely illuminated by the streetlights. 

Seongwoo has the wallet and the person he needs to give it to is within sight, but he’s at a loss. There’s no real way of executing this without Daniel suspecting _something_ and unless he’s the biggest Spider-Man fanboy known to mankind (which he isn’t) (because that’s Jaehwan) (lol), there are going to be some questions. And these questions are going to be way out of Seongwoo’s expertise and someone’s going to fuck up and that someone is probably going to be him.

He lets out a sigh. 

“Good going, Spider-Man,” he says mockingly. “Take a bullet for someone only to lose your nerve when it’s time to get recognition. Typical of you, amateur hero.” 

Idly, Seongwoo swings down a couple of stories until he’s perched on the railing of Daniel’s apartment balcony. 

He should be grateful that it’s a late hour. No one’s awake except for diligent students and people like Daniel, who have all but altered their sleeping schedules to be borderline nocturnal. Seongwoo takes his sweet time trying to come up with a reasonable way of delivering this wallet without cornering himself into a hapless scenario.

It might not be a terrible idea to just drop the wallet off here. If he had pen and paper, he could tape a note to the window pane. Something like, _HERE IS UR WALLET XOXO SPIDEY_.

Seongwoo snorts. 

“The wind’s so shit today though,” he mutters to himself, licking the tip of his pointer finger and holding it in the air like he’s seen professionals do. “Maybe I could—”

And time must have escaped him because it's right then and there that the balcony door slides open. Seongwoo stumbles forward off of the railing in instinctive shock, very nearly landing head-first on none other than Kang Daniel. 

Great.

_GREAT._

“What the _hell_ ,” Daniel wheezes out, one hand against his chest and the other gripping the entryway of the balcony for dear life. His eyes widen when he processes who, exactly, is on his balcony. “S… pider… Spider-Man?”

 _Great_!

Seongwoo laughs nervously. “Haha, yeah, it’s me…” He clears his throat. “Your neighborhood Spider-Man. Here to, uh, here to…”

Words are a lost cause and Seongwoo is growing increasingly paranoid that his voice is going to be too recognizable even through the mask. He clamps his mouth shut and decides, instead, to toss Daniel’s wallet to him. 

“Surprise,” he says, taking a step back until he hits the railing. “It’s your lucky day, random citizen.” 

Daniel’s gaze flickers from _Spider-Man_ ’s face to the wallet in his hands. “You found my wallet,” he gasps out. "You found my—how did you know it was mine?”

“Your government ID,” Seongwoo lies. “Terrible picture, by the way. You should really re-take and use a photo without pink hair. It's not very trendy these days.” 

“That's—your arm,” Daniel suddenly points out, the shock on his face shifting into deep-seated concern. “You’re bleeding. You’re _hurt_.” 

“Oh?” Oh. Right. He is bleeding. And while the pain has numbed into a useless sort of buzz, Seongwoo is semi-grateful for the reminder that he should probably disinfect this when he gets home. “Battle wound,” he explains. “A day in the life.” 

It’s funny how awkward and nervous he feels when he’s standing in front of Kang Daniel, his best friend of _a decade and a half_ , with a mask on his face. They’re strangers, technically, and it kind of makes him anxious—like he has to make a good impression on the same guy he's seen crying in a haunted house before.

He willfully attributes the churning in his stomach to motion sickness. The butterflies flutter in protest and Seongwoo opts to ignore them.

“Stay here,” Daniel says, taking one step back into the apartment, eyes still glued to Seongwoo’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

His feet feel heavy and while this would be an ideal opportunity for Seongwoo to make his escape, he doesn’t move an inch from his position. Rookie mistake #2938985434 of the night. Seongwoo almost forces his legs to move but Daniel returns in less than a minute, first-aid kit in hand.

Daniel steps out onto the balcony instead of dragging Seongwoo in and slides the door shut behind him, taking a seat immediately after. “Sit down?” he requests.

Seongwoo parts his lips to protest, to make some sort of excuse about the many other lives he has to save, or some fun fact about regeneration and how he doesn’t need this sort of attention. He's filled to the brim with them—excuses. But his stomach does that weird thing again and Seongwoo goes from feeling antsy that they're semi-strangers to feeling like this dynamic is nothing different from the one they have when Seongwoo isn't wearing a mask.

He sits down. Cross-legged, knees touching Daniel’s, Seongwoo sucks in a breath and wonders why the distance between them feels so nonexistent.

The time Daniel spends tending to Seongwoo’s wound is time that they spend in silence. While the atmosphere isn’t heavy, the mix of emotions bubbling up at the very core of Seongwoo’s solar plexus intensifies by the second.

It almost feels unfair that he’s sitting here with Daniel, knowing who he is and who he is, specifically, to _Daniel_ when that very same knowledge isn’t mutual. It feels like he’s lying. At the same time, it’s indecipherable and strange, but Seongwoo’s chest feels tight for reasons beyond him. 

A sharp pain shoots up Seongwoo’s arm and he jerks in response.

“Sorry,” Daniel says quickly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Seongwoo bites out. “Just caught me off-guard. Thanks for this, by the way. Not every day that I get this kind of VIP treatment.”

Daniel tapes the gauze to Seongwoo’s shoulder and then heaves himself back up onto his two feet. His expression is unreadable, especially in the dark. There isn’t a hint of a smile on his face and if Seongwoo squints, he looks worried. 

“You’re good to go.” The worry spreads from Daniel's face to the rest of his body. His gaze follows Seongwoo diligently, and the waver in his irises tells Seongwoo that there's something Daniel wants to say.

“Thanks again,” Seongwoo chirps, forcing an un-belonging mirth into his voice as he hoists himself up as well. He hops up onto the ledge of the balcony of the upstairs apartment, two steps away from making his great escape. "I'll see y—"

“Wait!”

Seongwoo freezes. He falls backwards and suspends himself, face aligned upside-down with Daniel’s. The thumping in his chest is erratic again and he wonders if it's too soon to call it (hopefully) heartburn. “What’s up? Remember another wallet you lost in the Han River?”

“I forgot to say thanks,” Daniel says sheepishly, taking one step forward until they’re just inches apart. They stay like that for too long a moment and the smile on Daniel’s face fades into sobriety. He's scarily resolute, eyes locked with Seongwoo's. “Thank you, Spider-Man.” 

It's stupid. It's instinct. Seongwoo should move back, should move away, but Daniel is _so close_ and for some reason, it's not close enough. He can feel Daniel’s breath against his lips, even through the layer of fabric he’s worn as an armor. 

Daniel reaches his hands up, fingertips ghosting over the seam of Seongwoo's mask. "There was a leaf," he explains with a sheepish laugh, but it fades into nothing almost immediately after. And just like that, they're spending moments that shouldn't be theirs in pin-drop silence again. Daniel's finger twitches against the bob of Seongwoo's throat and then his hand moves. He gingerly peels the bottom half of the mask down, and very nearly closes the distance between them before stopping—like he’s waiting for Seongwoo to push him away.

And if he were in the right state of mind, if this were yesterday or the day before or even tomorrow, Seongwoo might have. But he doesn’t, at least not immediately. 

There’s no rhyme or reason to it except that instinct tethers him to this very place. Nothing happens. Nothing _should_ happen and Seongwoo has no fucking idea why the only thing he can manage to comprehend in the mad-rush of thoughts in his mind is how _badly_ he wants to kiss Daniel right this very second.

“I,” Seongwoo stammers, throat tight and voice raw, “I should go.” He pulls himself up and tugs his mask back down, trying, with much futility, to slow the marathon his heart is running. 

His entire body is stinging, as though he's been shocked, scalded by a bittersweet realization that the entire world has been spinning and spinning while he's been steeping in what he thinks might be denial.

He doesn’t stop to say goodbye, to listen to what Daniel might have to say—none of that. It’s just like Seongwoo to run away from having to blur the lines between Spider-Man and himself.

It’s just like Seongwoo to run away from letting himself have something good, something deserved, something _natural_.

When he makes it to the rooftop again, Seongwoo slows to a stop and seats himself on the ledge. 

“What the fuck are you thinking, Ong Seongwoo?” he hisses to himself, yanking the mask off of his head and running a hand through his hair. He presses the back of his hand to his forehead and lets out a shudder of a sigh. “Get it together.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Kang Daniel**

Did you know spider-man has the same scar as you?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They don’t talk about it. 

What ‘it’ is is open to interpretation. But they don’t talk about it—any of it, all of it.

Seongwoo comes to terms with the fact that Spider-Man is a different part of him that he doesn’t have to acknowledge when he’s just a normal student. He doesn’t want to, either, because truth be told, he still isn’t sure what to make of that night on the balcony. 

(Read: He isn’t sure how to process how right it felt.)

(Read: He isn't sure how to admit that he wanted to let it happen.)

He isn’t the only one keeping his distance. Daniel’s been vacant in the days following, as well. His texts have been clipped and their conversations have been fleeting. 

Whether this is something Seongwoo’s grateful for or concerned by is too difficult a distinction to make. 

He hasn’t replied directly to Daniel’s text from the day after and they’ve had a handful of conversations in spite of it. They’re both choosing not to acknowledge _it_ and Seongwoo is contented with this because this is the best he’ll be able to get. 

There’s a certain anonymity he’s obligated to uphold as a vigilante. It’s to protect himself but to protect the people around him too. 

He trusts Daniel more than he trusts anyone else on this planet, but Seongwoo doesn’t trust himself—and that’s why he’s stuck at a standstill, trying to decide between honesty or calculated ignorance. 

And he’s almost come to a final decision to ignore everything for the sake of pretending that nothing in their relationship is liable to change when his phone vibrates and the entire universe joins forces to tell him, _No, you can’t keep running._

 

**Kang Daniel**

So when were you going to tell me that you’re spider-man?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

By a stunning turn of events, Seongwoo is saved from where he is taped to a door in the engineering building (NO THANK YOU, LEE GUNHEE) by, not Kang Daniel, but (because the entire world is out to get him) Hwang Minhyun. 

“Jaehwan wasn’t kidding when he said you’ve got some strange places to hang out,” Minhyun says good-naturedly. 

The joke, for all intents and purposes, is probably the worst joke Seongwoo’s heard in his entire life but because he is supposed to be (????) smitten and definitely is stupid and cheap, he laughs too loudly anyway.

He hasn't thought about Minhyun in days, which is strange and unlike him. But it makes sense, technically; he doesn’t see Minhyun too often. They’re, loosely speaking, in the same friend group, but their majors are different and Seongwoo’s the un-endearing type that always says weird shit by accident around crushes anyway. Friendships like these are better preserved from a comfortable distance. Sun Tzu's _Art of War_ or something. 

That, and ever since Minhyun started dating Jonghyun, Seongwoo has actively opted to lead a life of semi-solitude. For the sake of his frail heart and also because he's trying to pretend that he's grown out of active self-sabotage.

Seongwoo brushes himself off and waits for the blood to re-circulate in his body. 

“It’s been a while,” Minhyun says. “How have classes been for you?” 

“Terrible,” says Seongwoo with a one-thousand-watt smile. “You?” 

“Not too shabby.” 

“Typical model student,” Seongwoo sighs out. “What brings you to the engineering side of campus? It’s drab and depressing here. You’re going to start missing the sleek new business building any second now.” 

“Came to drop something off. I didn’t expect to run into you though. Especially not taped to a door.” There’s a glimmer of concern on Minhyun’s face. “Does that… Does that happen often?”

“More often than you’d think,” Seongwoo replies, solemn. “Perks of writing mean articles about people." He cracks his neck and grimaces when it stiffens instead. "How’s Jonghyun been?”

Minhyun scratches his cheek and looks a little uncomfortable; _shy_ , even. “Good. I’m meeting up with him in a few for dinner, actually. Sungwoon’s coming and Jaehwan said he’d drop by if he wasn’t busy. You should come with. He’d be happy to see you.” 

His Friday night plans are limited. Just yesterday, he pity-bought an entire box of cup ramen to try and consume in one night while playing video games that he is undoubtedly terrible at. It's true that his wallet and his social life are suffering especially in his great attempt at avoiding talking to Daniel but there's little cause for concern. At least, not yet.

Seongwoo considers Minhyun’s invitation for a fleeting second and weighs 'Having to See Hwang Minhyun with His Very Ideal Boyfriend' and 'Getting Flamed on Overwatch by Middle-Schoolers for Sucking Immensely.' 

“What do you think?” Minhyun asks.

“Sure,” replies Seongwoo. “I’d pretend to check my schedule, but I think we’re beyond that.” 

“We can invite Daniel too,” Minhyun continues. “I saw him the other day when he lost his wallet. Hopefully he found it by now but, hey, it’s okay if he didn’t. Tonight’s meal is on Jonghyun.”

They can't invite Daniel. Or, well, they shouldn't. _Or, well_ , Seongwoo would highly prefer if they didn't. He doesn’t say anything though because Minhyun’s the type to be concerned about everything and anything and Seongwoo doesn’t have the energy to explain a predicament that might best be summarized as ‘ _might be in love with my best friend and not you? What the fuuuuck?_ ’

Seongwoo whistles. “Kim Jonghyun,” he sing-songs, aptly ignoring Minhyun’s mention of Daniel. “A man after my own heart.”

“He doesn’t know yet,” Minhyun says with a laugh and he either doesn't notice (likely) or is polite enough not to call out (likelier) Seongwoo’s tactful aversion. “Let’s head over? It’s a BBQ place near the main gate. I forget the name but you’ve probably already been if Sungwoon’s ever dragged you out for meat.” 

“I know exactly the place. He only likes it because the wait staff is cute. He's going to make us time our entrance so we get that Taehyun guy as our waiter.” 

“The food isn’t terrible so I won’t complain.” Minhyun hums thoughtfully. "Sungwoon needs love too."

Seongwoo concedes that much.

The walk to the restaurant from the engineering side of campus takes about twenty minutes at a leisurely pace. They don’t have too much to talk about. Despite having the same group of friends and having been friends since their first year of university, it hits Seongwoo every time it’s just the two of them that they really don’t have all too much in common. And that’s not a bad thing. Seongwoo doesn’t have a ton in common with Jaehwan either, and they’re essentially a two-in-one deal. 

It’s just, in light of recent events, there’s a lot of doubt in Seongwoo’s mind about whether the affection he’s been harboring for Minhyun is something he’s genuinely been growing in his heart, or if it’s something artificial—something born out of necessity. 

He likes Minhyun as a person. Enjoys his level-headed, triple C presence in his life as a friend. 

Suddenly, though, it’s hard to say without a shadow of a doubt, that Seongwoo likes him as anything more than just that—and it shouldn’t, but the realization terrifies him. 

“Have you and Jonghyun hit one year yet?” Seongwoo asks, maybe too suddenly. Any distraction will do.

Minhyun doesn’t flinch. “Just hit half a year,” he says. “It feels like we’ve been together longer though. Maybe because we’ve been friends for so long?” 

“You two have known each other for almost as long as Daniel and I have known each other, right?” 

“Yeah, since we were ten.” Minhyun gingerly places his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “The only time he was taller than me.” 

“Ice cold, Hwang Minhyun.” Seongwoo clicks his tongue. “Must be nice though. You guys are kind of living the dream, aren’t you? Fairytale romance.” 

“There was a lot of trial and tribulation before we ended up with each other,” he confesses. “Did I ever tell you? I used to like you.” He glances up toward the sky, pensive. “Back in second year?”

The streets are always bustling around dinner time when students are leaving late classes and trying to grab bites to eat before holing themselves up with assignments. In spite of all of this human traffic, Seongwoo skids to an abrupt stop. “You,” he sputters. “You _what_?”

“Yeah.” There’s an unsuspecting smile on Minhyun’s face that screams _clueless_ and Seongwoo surreptitiously checks his pulse to make sure he’s still breathing and pinches himself a second after to make sure _this is real_. “Sorry, did I make it awkward? I just figured since it’s in the past… it’s kind of funny, isn’t it?” 

Minhyun has a penchant for telling the worst jokes ever. Duly noted.

He isn’t sure if he should feel enthralled or heartbroken but Seongwoo feels neither—which is more puzzling. If anything, he just feels flabbergasted. It is kind of funny. _Hilarious_ even. 

“I knew I didn’t have a chance,” explains Minhyun, slowing his gait as Seongwoo un-freezes and starts to catch up. “I don’t like wasting time.” 

A part of him has the vaguest idea that he knows what Minhyun’s going to say. Seongwoo swallows the lump in his throat and prays his voice doesn’t count as a croak when he asks anyway, “What do you mean?”

The response isn’t immediate. Minhyun takes his time as he cranes his head to give Seongwoo a knowing glance. 

“You had Daniel,” he says, and for some reason, that’s explanation enough. He pauses for the briefest of seconds and then smiles, mostly to himself, as though re-learning a secret. “Or, well, I guess Daniel had you.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Note to self: Ha Sungwoon is the devil incarnate and Kim Jaehwan is but a modicum of his evil. 

Split amongst the four of them (Jaehwan is absent, and they spend the first twenty minutes of dinner hypothesizing why and then discussing the logistics behind Sewoon and Jaehwan potentially dating), they share approximately six bottles of soju. 

Technically, it’s split amongst the three of them because Minhyun taps out and orders approximately three sodas after taking two sips. 

Seongwoo would like to pretend, in earnest, that he doesn’t remember anything that happened after Shot #8. He does, however, distinctly remember complaining to Minhyun about Jaehwan insinuating terrifyingly deeper things about his friendship with Daniel. 

He also remembers stumbling outside after they’ve split the bill and catching sight of Minhyun leaning down to peck Jonghyun on the lips. 

The issue with this isn’t the fact that he’s being forced to witness someone who’s supposed to be his crush kissing someone else. The issue is that, in that exact moment, the only thing Seongwoo can summon up to mind is a mismatched balcony kiss that never was that should have been. He thinks, _'I wish that was me'_ and then he thinks, _'I miss Daniel.'_

(And it’s right about then that Seongwoo starts to feel sick to his stomach.)

Everyone splits up. The night ends. And somehow, most likely thanks to Jonghyun’s stellar supervision, Seongwoo ends up being chaperoned home by the only person who’d be willing to come to Sinchon well past the last train on a Friday night to pick him up. 

“I’m not, I’m— _no drunk,_ ” Seongwoo mumbles insistently. 

“‘No drunk,’” Daniel echoes hollowly, and the exasperation that seeps from the sigh that follows doesn’t go un-missed (even when Seongwoo is not (not) drunk). He tightens his grip around Seongwoo’s waist when he teeters too close to a passing couple. “You don’t drink.” 

“Rarely,” Seongwoo corrects. His eyelids feel heavy and he sinks deeper against Daniel’s side. “I _rarely_ drink. Only when I absolutely positively need to get shit-faced drunk. Which I’m not. I’m not shit-faced drunk.” 

“You talk too much even when you’re drunk,” Daniel says with a faint laugh. 

Seongwoo isn’t sure how Daniel does it. They’ve been in each other’s lives for years and by Seongwoo’s Stupid No-Good Shenanigan #1928394859483, any normal person would have been fed up. 

This—one of Daniel’s arms secure around Seongwoo’s waist and the other hand holding onto the arm Seongwoo’s currently resting on Daniel’s shoulders, all while balancing a giant bag of fried chicken (from Seongwoo’s favorite shop)—is the opposite of _fed up_.

He really does have _Seongwoo senses_ , always coming to the rescue when normal civilian Ong Seongwoo is at the mercy of a mental breakdown, or an emotional breakdown, or a healthy mix of both. 

Maybe the real superhero of Seoul has been Kang Daniel all along. 

“So, what happened?”

It takes a second for the question to fully process in Seongwoo’s mind. He squints at the sky, then scuffs the tip of his shoe against the sidewalk, nearly stumbling in the process. 

“You know how every time I tell you about my dumb crush on Hwang Minhyun, you’re like, ‘why do you only ever fall in love with people who won’t love you back?’ And I get annoyed and tell you to stop pulling lines you stole from the Korean dramas your mom watches?” 

“Ah,” Daniel says, too knowing. “It’s about Minhyunnie hyung.” 

“Why weren’t you there? This—this, _all of this_ would have been avoided if you’d been there to, god, I don’t know, fake appendicitis or something so I could get out and away and live my life with minimal heart complications.” Seongwoo wobbles again when he jerks his neck too quickly, lifting a finger to jab it against Daniel’s chest. “Everything’s complicated. Everything. Things were easier weeks ago. Weeks! How does everything change in _weeks_?”

Their faces are too close and it’s nothing new, considering all disputes ages ten to sixteen were sorted through wrestling (after Daniel found out that Seongwoo was cheating during rock-paper-scissors: the great Crisis of ’05). Daniel turns his head, though, gaze immediately fixed to the sky, to a distant lamppost, to anywhere but Seongwoo.

It’s probably the alcohol on his breath (logical) but for a flicker of a second, Seongwoo almost thinks it’s _weird_.

“I’m still mad at you, you know.”

Seongwoo freezes, nearly gets dragged by Daniel before Daniel slows to a stop as well. He almost forgot that they were technically not on speaking terms. He almost _forgot_ that there's one other person in Seoul that knows his deepest secret, and that one other person is standing right beside him. “You can’t stay mad at me forever,” he says with a shaky smile. “I mean, if you don’t forgive me, then who will I have in this cold, cold world?” 

“I’m being serious,” Daniel says, and the frown he’s wearing is _horrible_. It doesn’t belong there. 

“I am too.” Seongwoo pushes himself away from Daniel and takes a couple of steps forward. He steadies himself, sucks in a a breath of cold air. It feels kind of wrong to muster up an apology without even looking the person in the eye, but Seongwoo doesn’t have the nerve to see any more disappointment on Daniel’s face. “I’m sorry—for not telling you or whatever, but I mean, I, it… It’s not something I should be telling anyone, you know? Like, how do you just casually bring up the fact that you’re _Spider-Man_? My aunt doesn’t even know. No one knows, except, well, I guess you know now—”

“That’s not what I’m angry about,” interjects Daniel. There’s a deep-seated frustration in his voice, something Seongwoo isn’t familiar with hearing. He doesn’t turn around because he’s scared to see what expression Daniel might be wearing. “I don’t care if you’re a vigilante, hyung. You could be anything in the world. You’re allowed to have your secrets. You don’t have to tell me everything and I don’t want you to ever think that I expect you to.”

Seongwoo bites his tongue. 

“Will you look at me?” 

Time passes excruciatingly slowly and with much futility, Seongwoo wills his body to turn and face Daniel. The first thing he notices is _hurt_ , and then guilt, and then exasperation, and then something Seongwoo can’t put a name to. 

“Then why are you mad at me?” Seongwoo asks. “I’m bad at this kind of stuff. You have to tell me straight-up or I’ll run around in circles for years thinking about it.” 

Daniel sighs before asking, “How’s your arm?” 

“Don’t do that,” Seongwoo mutters. “Don’t change the subje—”

“The wound’s gone?” 

Seongwoo rolls his eyes. “Mostly,” he says. “It was just a graze. Barely a flesh wound. I’ve fallen from the roof of fourteen-story building and gotten away with a single battle scar, you know.” 

“Do you think this one will scar?”

“Probably not, I mean—okay, no, _stop_ , hold up. Are we not going to talk about you being mad at me for whatever mysterious reason? You can’t just throw that out into the open and not expect me to obsess over it.” He shudders, ghosts a hand over the day-old bullet wound on his shoulder. Seongwoo clenches his jaw. “What’s up? Talk to me. Why are you angry? Let’s work this out.” 

And it’s almost infuriating that Daniel responds, first, by looking away. Infuriating for a fleeting second and then _terrifying_ soon after, because they’ve fought in the past, sure, but there’s an uncertainty lingering between them right now that fills Seongwoo with a sense of dread he’s never attributed to Daniel before. 

“You’re acting like I just burnt down your entire universe,” Seongwoo says with a wry smile. He wonders if his voice is trembling as much as he feels like it is. 

Daniel closes his hand into a fist. Opens it again—closes it once more, and then jams his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“You got hurt,” says Daniel, quietly, in an angry whisper. “You got hurt _because of me_.”

Something tightens at the base of Seongwoo’s chest; tightens and then falls like an anvil until all he has left are the tremors of some unspoken, tell-tale hurt. 

“What?” 

“I don’t care if you’re Spider-Man,” Daniel continues, his words deliberate, slow, chanted like a prayer. “I could care less if you were _Santa Claus._ Does it bother me that you’re probably putting your life on the line every single time you go out and try to save the city? Yeah, okay, maybe a little—but can you blame me? That’s normal. I care about you as my best friend, as my closest friend. It’d be weird if I didn’t worry.” 

The subway’s closed and Sinchon is atypically quiet. It feels strange, like the entire world has deliberately hushed itself for this exact moment, this exact confrontation, this exact _encounter_ to happen exactly in this way: just the two of them and the dwindling street lamps of the city. 

“I can’t stop you from being a superhero. But I’ll be selfish and tell you that I’m angry because you got hurt because of _me_. You went out and did something stupid that you didn’t have to do because of me, and you got hurt in the process.” Daniel purses his lips together and levels his gaze until his eyes lock with Seongwoo’s. “I’m pissed. I’m pissed because I thought that if there had to be one person in this entire world that could protect _you_ , Seoul’s keeper, it might be me. And it isn’t—and I hate that.”

His throat feels dry and where there should be words, a witty remark, a wrung-out joke, there’s nothing. Seongwoo’s focus flickers from Daniel’s face to the street-lamp beside them and then to the ground. 

He wants to say something. He _desperately_ wants to say something, but the right platitudes escape him and Seongwoo grasps at straws. 

“You’re talking like you knew I was Spider-Man all along,” Seongwoo says, words peppered with a hitch of nervous laughter. 

“I’ve known for a while,” Daniel replies. His tone is resigned, defeated. “A few years ago, I came by to your apartment to drop something off and right when I opened the door to your bedroom—”

“Don’t tell me—”

“—I saw a guy in red spandex jump out of the window.” 

Seongwoo laughs drily. Said laughter dies in his throat almost immediately. 

“And everything sort of clicked then.” Daniel rubs his neck. “It made a lot more sense than you just being a really talented athlete with a night job.” 

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” explains Seongwoo. “I, I mean—someday, I wanted to tell you, but… You weren’t supposed to find out that I was the one who got your wallet, and in the same vein, you weren’t supposed to find out that I was the one that got hurt. You were just… I don’t know. You were just supposed to think it was _Spider-Man_ being a chivalrous dude and leave it at that.” 

“I know.”

"You weren't supposed to know any of this and, god. _God_. I couldn’t tell you. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. What kind of shitty friend would I be if I forced you to keep my secret with me?”

“I know.” 

“Don’t be mad,” Seongwoo says. He feels too vulnerable, too exposed like this. “I know it was stupid of me to look for your wallet. It was just because you said it was important and I, well, I don’t think vigilantes are supposed to have biases but…” He laughs again, weakly. “It’s you. I had to.” 

The furrow between Daniel’s brow deepens. “Did you look inside my wallet after you got it back?” 

“I wanted to,” confesses Seongwoo. “Thought it might be a list of your passwords or something. I was going to delete your Overwatch account as a favor to your mom.” 

To Seongwoo’s relief, the slightest smile makes its way onto Daniel’s lips. He seems tired too, like there’s something grander than the both of them and this worn-out college town that’s eating away at him. It takes a second of hesitation and then Daniel shifts, digging deep into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a familiar fold of leather. 

“You don’t have to show me,” Seongwoo begins to say, right as Daniel tosses the wallet to him.

“Look inside,” says Daniel. “You have my permission.” 

Seongwoo falters and the hesitation is glaring, written across every inch of his face. Still, he peels open Daniel’s wallet with a practiced care, and wonders what, exactly, he was scared of when all he sees is the usual fare: a student ID, a government ID, credit cards, coupons—

There’s a battered picture peeking out from behind Daniel’s embarrassing student ID, folded up fifty-thousand times and fading in all of the wrong places. It’s with caution that Seongwoo wiggles it out from where it’s been eased into place.

He unfolds it slowly and bites back a laugh when he sees it in all its beat-up glory: Seongwoo and Daniel, ages sixteen and fifteen respectively on Daniel’s first day of high school.

“My mom lost the file,” Daniel explains. “That’s the only copy of the photo we have.” 

“You’re mean these days,” Seongwoo says, a tremor of a smile ghosting his lips. “I was starting to wonder if it was puberty or something because you’ve gotten so good at getting me to apologize lately.” 

Daniel hums. “I know.” 

“This picture reminds me that you weren’t always so rough around the edges,” Seongwoo sighs out. “What happened to the kid that cried when I graduated elementary school before him? What happened to the kid that wanted to marry me?”

“What do you mean?” The sincerity, the unshaking _sincerity_ in Daniel's gaze sends Seongwoo’s heart into a frenzy. “That kid never left.” 

Seongwoo freezes. “What?” He forces a laugh out. “What are you even saying?”

“I realized I liked you on the first day of high school.” Daniel is unwavering. “Those kids kept calling me ugly and pushing me around and you got so annoyed you got into a fight with them.” 

“I lost,” adds Seongwoo, words coming out in a frenetic mess. “Lost terribly. Biggest L of my life to date.” 

“I remember thinking you’d hate me,” Daniel continues. “You spent all of that time in middle school trying to shake off all of your own bullies and right when they stopped bothering you, you got dragged into my mess.”

“Daniel—”

“It was probably earlier. I just didn’t realize it until then.” The smile on Daniel’s lips is forlorn but serene. He’s sharing his fondest, most precious memory with Seongwoo, and all Seongwoo can manage to do is gape. “Hyung, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I’m sorry I’m being selfish by telling you, but I—I hope you can forgive me one more time for causing you trouble.” 

“No, that’s not—” Seongwoo trails off weakly, dropping his gaze from Daniel’s face to the photo in his hands. It is a precious memory, something he’d forgotten amidst the unrelenting demands of adulthood and all of its implications. He folds it again, tucks it into the pocket he retrieved it from, and closes the wallet. “Me… Me too.” 

“… What?”

Seongwoo grips the wallet too-tightly and tries to remember to breathe. “Me too,” he says, louder now. “I feel the same.” 

It’s funny how the realization hits him: all at once and then slowly, engulfing him like a tidal wave. He wishes he could feel relief, could feel joy, could feel something that wasn't complete and utter terror welling up inside of his ribcage. 

He should be happy—should be thrilled that the only person on this planet he could ever imagine himself being truly, genuinely happy and honest with is standing two feet away from him and carrying the same heart. 

Where there should be warmth, however, there is cold, and Seongwoo grows increasingly aware by the second of the glaring reminder that he isn’t someone who’s allowed to fall in love _just like that_. 

Daniel must notice because he takes a step closer. “Hyung,” he says, as gently as possible.

“That’s not a good thing,” Seongwoo continues, the quiver in his voice growing. “I… I’m sorry. I can’t. We can’t—this isn’t something that can happen.” He covers his mouth with his hand, drags it down until it falls back to his side. “I didn’t realize that I had these feelings for you until tonight. Maybe I knew earlier, just like you, but maybe I was better at ignoring it.” 

He’s in love with Daniel and it makes too much sense. 

He’s in love with Daniel and Ong Seongwoo is nothing but a bad luck charm to every single person he’s ever wanted to love. 

“It took me forever,” Seongwoo says with a hoarse laugh. “But, I… I’m sorry but we can’t… We can’t do anything. Daniel, this is fucking _impossible_.” 

He's in love with Daniel and he absolutely shouldn't be.

“Hyung,” Daniel says again. "If you feel the same, then why are you pushing me away?”

It’s a reasonable question and even Seongwoo isn’t sure how to verbalize the answer. The words are there but he doesn’t want to breathe life into them, doesn’t want them to exist tangibly right before his very eyes.

“I’m not a normal person,” Seongwoo chokes out, stumbling back, away. “I’m _not_ normal and there’s an entire city that loves or hates my guts. Every single day is unpredictable and terrifying. You’re the only thing in my life that’s been a constant and I can’t fuck this up, okay? I don’t—I know, I _know_. This sounds dramatic. I’m being paranoid. I’m being ridiculous. But I can’t fuck this up. I can’t lose you too.”

The distance between them widens but Daniel keeps moving forward, stubbornly closing it again and again and again. “Why?” he asks. “Why would you lose me?” 

“Everyone that’s come into my life that I’ve loved has left. They’ve died or they’ve gotten hurt or they’ve gotten tired of my bullshit, and man, I get it. I’m a lot and I’d be tired of my bullshit too.” Seongwoo clenches his jaw, runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t be a hero when I can’t even protect the people around me, and the only way I can manage that is by keeping my distance. You think I left my aunt’s house because I was angry with her? Think I stopped picking up her calls because I was mad at the world? Because I’m still in mourning? _Fuck_. The only person I’m mad at is myself.” Seongwoo takes another staggering step back. “You know my secret. Then you should know why I—why I can’t let this happen.”

“None of that was your fault,” Daniel says, and he's firm, words streaming out gently but fiercely at the same time. “How long have you been letting yourself believe that the fate of the entire universe is in your hands? Don’t be a martyr, hyung. You’re a superhero, sure, but you aren’t invincible.” 

“You’re too important to me,” Seongwoo mumbles. “You’re too important to me,” he says again, this time with forced clarity, “and I can’t risk anything. Not anymore.” 

“Seongwoo hyung—”

“I have to go.” 

The last thing he sees before turning his back is unadulterated heartbreak in Daniel’s eyes and Seongwoo exits stage left with the heavy realization that it might be too late after all. 

Maybe he’s already hurt Daniel without even realizing it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Kang Daniel**

If you ever get tired of being a hero  
just know that it makes no difference to me

 

**Kang Daniel**

I’ll be here.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

What he knows: It’s impossible for him to be the single worst bad luck charm in the entirety of the universe. Ridiculous that he’d even want to think that—like, okay, sure, it’s easy to beat yourself up a little when all that’s followed you is tragedy but _come on_. The world works in mysterious ways and there’s a deity or some bigger scientific theory out there that determines how things work. Not Seongwoo. He might be a superhero and a straight-A student, but he doesn’t know shit in the grand scheme of things. 

What he believes too stubbornly despite all that he knows because if anyone on this planet is a headstrong idiot with self-sacrificial borderline self-deprecating tendencies, it’s Ong Seongwoo: His parents might have lived if they weren’t his parents. His uncle would have lived if he’d been a better nephew. His aunt would never have had her heart broken if Seongwoo had never existed in the first place. Falling in love with Daniel might as well be a formal announcement to the universe that he’s ready to lose his entire world all over again.

(what he hates himself for wanting to believe: maybe true love is being okay with the entire world spinning too quickly on its axis and maybe true love is supposed to be terrifying and frightening and uncertain and maybe it doesn’t matter how fucking scared he is in the end because in the present, it’s okay. and somehow, when it comes to matters of the heart, everything figures itself out and seongwoo’s heart is no exception.) 

“How’s your arm?” Officer Shim asks from beside him, neatly cutting off Seongwoo’s destructive train of thought. 

Seongwoo glances at the arm in question and almost smacks it for being the Sole Reason why that entire debacle with Daniel happened in the first place (sort of). “It’s fine,” he says instead. “Healed in a day.” 

“Good.” There’s a long, deliberate pause. “And your… other concerns?” 

“Romantic complications,” the Krispy Kreme crook amends from behind bars. “He means your shit-show of a love life.”

He’s idling at the police station after dropping off a criminal and slamming into three walls while trying to get back home. 

_“Maybe you should rest before you go,”_ Officer Shim had said thirty-minutes prior after Seongwoo hit wall #3 and just barely dodged wall #4. _“It seems like you have a lot on your mind.”_

He does have a lot on his mind. Officer Shim must be a psychic or something. 

So, he’s resting. Spinning in a swivel chair to try and see how long he can go before he throws up. Tearing post-it notes into the tiniest pieces manageable. Eating _jjajangmyeon_ that isn’t his beneath a desk because anonymity or something and in spite of the entire world falling to pieces before his very eyes, the mask is a big responsibility and Ong Seongwoo is nothing if not semi-responsible. 

“My what-what of a what what,” Seongwoo deadpans. 

The crook from weeks ago and Officer Shim exchange glances.

“Your best friend,” Krispy Kreme says. “The one that might be in love with you.”

“I thought it was the other way around,” Officer Shim replies. “Weren’t you in love with them?”

Seongwoo covers his (already covered) face with his hands. “You guys are like my parents, my god. You’re blatantly discussing my personal issues for the entire office to hear. You realize that, right?” He gesticulates wildly to Everyone. “Everyone in this entire office now knows that my love life is nothing but a bunch of ambiguous question marks.”

The rest of the officers and apprehended criminals clear their throats and pointedly look away, feigning ignorance.

"It's nothing," Seongwoo says with a groan. "I'm Spider-Man. I don’t have time to fall in love. Someone evil will hear I have human emotions and kill everyone closest to me or something. That’s how all of the movies go. And I would know. I watch a lot of movies.”

He doesn't get an immediate response, which is more than enough invitation for Seongwoo to continue his Mental Breakdown in F Minor. 

“Imagine being young and sprightly and signing your life away to a future of inevitable solitude because you’re a superhero and one wrong move could mean your hypothetical significant other being held hostage at the tippy-top of Namsan Tower.” Seongwoo spins in his seat once. “I’m really handsome under this mask, you guys. Believe me. I’m a waste of an eligible bachelor, and for what? _The adoration of a thriving metropolis_? Kill me." 

“Christ,” Krispy Kreme mutters.

“That’s my line,” grumbles Seongwoo. “Come back when you fuck up an entire confession and unfortunately live to tell the tale.”

“Kid,” Krispy Kreme starts, “it isn’t the end of the world.”

“We were like, 'I love you!' and then I was like, 'waaaait, just kidding, I'm Spider-Man, bye.' Tell me how it could be worse.” 

“You might be the ‘amazing Spider-Man’ but you’re also just a guy with a funny mask on. You might even be that guy before you’re Spider-Man, and that’s something only you can decide.” 

“You say that like it’s easy to decide which one I’m going to be.” Seongwoo smiles weakly, _exhaustion_ seeping from every inch of his being. “I can’t be one or the other. I have to be both. Seoul needs me to be both—and if the city has to choose, it needs me to be Spider-Man.” 

“Your choices don’t have to be permanent. You can be both but that doesn't mean you have to be one more than the other all of the time.” 

“Mister Jung is right,” Officer Shim agrees. “This city has capable people taking care of it, not just you. You have to remember that you can’t save an entire city, just like you can’t save the entire world. Spider-Man, you owe yourself some credit. If there’s one person here that you can save without a sliver of a doubt, it’s you. Seoul will learn to adapt because we’re a city of growth. You need to remember that as a hero, you’re a pillar. You’re not a babysitter.” 

“Wow.” Seongwoo looks from Krispy Kreme (apparently Mister Jung) to Officer Shim. “You guys are on a last-name-basis now?” 

“We’ve had a lot of time to talk,” aptly renamed Criminal Jung says with a shrug. “Now listen. I don’t know what kind of baggage you’re carrying, and I’m not going to ask either because even if you tell me, I won’t understand—not in the way you want me to. What I can tell you, however, is that Seoul isn’t asking for a martyr. She isn’t asking for a sacrifice. She’s asking for you when you’re at your worst, when you’re at your best, and she’s asking for the you that misses important calls because you sleep like a log.”

Seongwoo winces and mouths _‘sorry’_ to Officer Shim.

“You’re a hero,” he continues, “but you’re also just a kid. You’re a kid with a giant heart and a stupid mask and a long, long life ahead of you. You’re young and sprightly, just like you said. Too young and too sprightly to be taking steps back because you’re scared of what’s in front of you. C’mon, Spidey. How’s a guy that scales the skyline in a night going to try and tell me that he’s afraid of something that makes the world go ‘round?” 

“I avoid making promises on principle,” Officer Shim says. “I won’t make a habit of it. However, I’d like to assure you that you have a reliable group of people behind your back. We don’t want to see your loved ones hurt either. We don’t want to see you hurt. The burdens you’re carrying on your shoulders don’t belong to you alone. The worries you have, while I can’t call them unfounded, are worries you don’t have to bear by yourself. We’re on your side. Don’t let yourself believe that we’d hold you back.” 

“I got your back too,” Criminal Jung adds with a two-finger salute. “Go out there and be crazy. Fall in love, get your heart broken, fix it again. Life’s too short to tally up regrets you haven’t even had yet.” 

It’s a funny picture: a crook, a cop, and a hero exchanging counsel and platitudes like it’s nothing. 

“You’re really set on making me do this whole ‘falling in love’ thing,” Seongwoo comments. 

“We’re merely encouraging you to let go of your irrationality,” Officer Shim replies primly. He rises from his seat and checks his watch. “My shift. I have to leave. I trust you’ll be okay, Spider-Man.”

“I’ll be okay,” echoes Seongwoo, unconvinced.

Criminal Jung chuckles from the corner of the holding cell. “You’ve done this city a world of good.” There’s a wry smile on his face. “You changed my life for the better, kid. Go out and change yours.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He’s got a variety of cameras stashed in the corner of his room. There’s his DSLR for articles (complete with a detachable memory card that probably has one too many incriminating photos of Lee Gunhee screaming at the lens), a smaller digital camera for the days when lower-profile events demand his attention but Not Enough of It, and a beat-up Polaroid he jacked from the few things his vulture-esque extended family left of his parents’ belongings. 

Seongwoo pulls his Polaroid out and dusts it off liberally before tossing it onto his bed. 

"I just wanted to apologize," he says into the receiver of his phone. "I know I've been difficult the past few years and I know you've been worried about me, wondering if it was something you did. It wasn't anything you did and it took me a really long time to realize that I have been being too hard on myself. And, I, well. I'm sorry, auntie."

The window creaks open and a gust of wind makes the curtains billow out toward him. He tugs his Spider-Man mask over his head and creeps over the windowsill, balancing comfortably on the ledge. 

"I'll be a better nephew," Seongwoo promises. "Things are looking up and I know we've been through a lot, but I'm finally starting to believe that it's going to get better. Thanks for being patient with me."

Maybe he should establish a system. Flip a coin every night—heads, he’s Spider-Man; and tails, he’s Ong Seongwoo, your run-of-the-mill, sleep-deprived, engineering student. 

Seongwoo closes his eyes and takes a second to feel the breeze. 

There’s only one person on this entire planet that he doesn’t have to flip a coin with.

There’s only one person on this entire planet that he can be both with. 

There’s only one person on this entire planet that he can be two halves of a whole with.

He inhales and takes one giant leap forward.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Ong Seongwoo**

meet me at itaewon station exit 4 

 

**Kang Daniel**

What time?

 

**Ong Seongwoo**

whenever  
i’ll be there

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s late and it’s pouring. There aren’t many people out at this hour, and especially not in this weather. The few drunken stragglers trying to stumble home with lopsided umbrellas after company dinners and nights wasted in nearby bars dwindle in number as the minutes tick by.

The last time he was here, it’d been raining too. The rain then had seemed cruel, taunting, and he remembers getting drenched, alone, for hours after screaming at the paramedics for taking his uncle away. 

That was four years ago. Seongwoo’s changed since then. Maybe not fundamentally, but he’s changed. It’s scary to acknowledge it, but it’s true and it’s tangible and it’s _there_.

He’s changed. It isn’t _Ong Seongwoo vs. World_ anymore; at least, not right now. 

Ten minutes past midnight, one person emerges from the subway station while everyone else goes the opposite way, ready to retire for the night. Seongwoo teeters where he’s hidden himself at the peak of an adjacent alleyway. 

Daniel’s holding an old, tattered umbrella. He lingers by the station entrance for a few seconds, gaze flickering from one end of the expanse to the other, searching. 

Seongwoo hasn’t thought about what to say. There’s no use rehearsing carefully constructed lines or excuses or explanations. He knows they’ll fall to nothing when it matters most and he doesn’t want any aspect of this conversation to be practiced. 

It’s too dark for Daniel to be able to see Seongwoo but he’s walking in Seongwoo’s general direction anyway. And it’s kind of funny—kind of like they’re drawn to each other like moths to a flame. 

The pitter patter of the rain doesn’t subside in the slightest and Seongwoo can just barely make out the sound of Daniel’s footsteps, louder splashes amidst tiny hurricanes falling like needles. 

In mere moments, it’s just the two of them. 

“Hyung?” Daniel calls out from below. He peers from wall to wall and then looks up, umbrella tilting ever-so-slightly. 

“You aren’t mad?” Seongwoo asks. He jumps from the top of the building he’d been balancing on to a lower part of the wall, still concealed by the shadows untouched by the distant light filtering in from the nearest street lamp. “Didn’t expect you to show.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I’m an asshole?” It’s cold—colder with the rain, and Daniel’s wearing an ill-suited zip-up and sweatpants like the fearless, stubborn idiot he is. Seongwoo almost makes a joke but it gets caught in his throat, jumbled with all of the other things he can’t bring himself to say. “Because you laid your entire heart out to me, I told you I felt the same, and then I pushed you away like you set me on fire or something.” 

Daniel laughs. “I’m used to it,” he says.

“You’re used to it,” Seongwoo repeats. “Used to me being a jerk? That kind of hurts my feelings, you know.”

“Used to you needing time.” Daniel’s voice is muffled and Seongwoo shifts, leans forward to try and make out the familiar cadence of it. “What did you want to talk about?” 

_Us,_ Seongwoo doesn’t say. _Tomorrow,_ he doesn’t reply. 

“A couple weeks ago,” he begins, “Jaehwan told me something really funny. He said that there are a lot of people out there that are scared of falling in love with their best friends. That people like that are so scared that sometimes, they don’t even let themselves imagine it.” 

A few hours earlier, he’d relieved stress by playing hero. Wheeled a cart of cardboard down the street for a hunched-over grandmother. Saved a kid from being trampled in the midst of rush hour. Swooped in and plucked a stolen purse out of a thief’s hands.

He’s still wearing his costume, his _uniform_ , but he doesn’t feel like Spider-Man. Looking back, he doesn’t think he’s ever really felt like Spider-Man around Daniel. Even during their first real encounter as semi-strangers—one vigilante and a one civilian—the rapid fluttering of butterflies in ‘Spider-Man’s stomach then might have just been Seongwoo (poorly) confronting feelings he never knew were his. 

“And then after that, two of my very good friends told me,” Seongwoo continues, “that life’s too short and I’m too young to be thinking about doomsday scenarios and the worst possible outcomes in every situation possible in the world. I’ve been told that I’m in love and that it’d be a real shame if I didn’t do something good about it.” 

Daniel is quiet. 

“The last time I was here, I was angry, ashamed, and I felt like I was being punished.” Seongwoo chokes out a laugh, swallows something he’s scared might be tears. “I’ve been thinking that you’re right. Everyone around me is right. I’m not bad luck. I can’t save everyone. It wasn’t my fault.” 

“Hyung,” Daniel calls out softly. 

“So, I called you here because it felt right. I’ve been doing this Spider-Man thing since I was seventeen. It used to be fun and then eighteen onward, it started feeling like some weird genetically-modified technojigjag curse I locked myself into. I’d go around helping people and pretending like I was over my anger, my shame, and everything in-between.” Seongwoo bites the inside of his cheek and counts to three, tries to level his breathing. “I called you here because I’m a sucker for dramatics and it only makes sense that I officially conquer my fears where they first came to fruition. It only makes sense that I conquer those fears with you."

He moves further down the wall he’s been clinging to, his heart racing with each step he takes closer to Daniel. 

“I’m still terrified,” confesses Seongwoo. “I’m still scared and I’m pissed that I like you to the point that that pessimistic side of me I'm too used to keeps getting overshadowed by this little glimmer of optimism at the back of my mind that won't stop saying, _‘take a chance!’_ But I’m getting used to it, and the more I get used to it, the more I realize that that part of me might just want the best for me after all.” 

Daniel turns slowly toward the direction of Seongwoo’s voice, right as Seongwoo suspends himself upside down from the bars outside of a window closer to the ground, mask abandoned and clutched in his hand. 

It’s like déjà vu, only this time, Seongwoo knows he doesn’t want to screw things up.

They stay like this, in silence, for a fleeting second, gazes locked and the only signs of life shared between them manifesting in the form of puffs of warm air caught in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m a real mess,” Seongwoo says with a smile, “and this has taken me too long to say properly, but I’m in love with you. And I hope that's okay.” 

Daniel takes a step forward, hands reaching out to cradle Seongwoo’s cheeks. His fingertips are cold. Seongwoo’s skin is cold. But his chest feels alight with warmth he never thought he’d be able to call his. 

“I told you I’d wait,” Daniel replies, thumb brushing Seongwoo’s bottom lip. He mirrors Seongwoo’s smile, wider, and closes the distance between them, lips hovering over Seongwoo’s as though waiting, once more, to be pushed away. “I told you I’d be here.” 

He counts the seconds again and prays he isn’t dreaming when he feels the kiss come to life. Warmth travels through his veins like a wildfire, balloons at the very core of his chest, and Seongwoo thinks, stupidly, foolishly, honestly, that he's never really believed in fickle things like love until right now. 

They’re drenched. Tomorrow, they’ll look back and laugh at their idiocy—at how long it took, at how much bumbling they endured, for a single, sweet, and embarrassingly precious kiss. 

“You always catch me when I'm upside down,” says Seongwoo when Daniel pulls away. The grin on his face nearly hurts his cheeks but he can’t bring himself to wipe it off. “Are we making it our thing?” 

Daniel laughs in the midst of stealing another kiss from the corner of Seongwoo’s smile. “Sure thing, Spider-Guy,” he says. “Call me whenever you need saving.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They take a photo together on Seongwoo's beat-up, old Polaroid camera the day after when they're both down with ridiculous fevers and _"probably pneumonia"_ (according to Daniel's mother, not M.D.) or something.

It's nothing special. They're curled up on Daniel's bed, blanket drawn over their heads, smiling from ear-to-ear. The picture's kind of blurry, Daniel's thumb is in the corner, and the backdrop (literally just Daniel's too-old bright blue wallpaper) is subpar at best.

But it's a new favorite picture and Seongwoo thinks he's being sneaky when he slips it into Daniel's wallet with their old high school photograph topped with a neon red Post-it note that reads: _Love, Spidey!_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Gunhee wanted me to tell you ‘congratulations,’” Jaehwan says, utterly unhelpful as always as he Literally Just Stands there while Seongwoo hangs by the ankle from a curtain cord in the auditorium. “He didn’t know when he and his cronies were exacting their revenge on you for giving the recent spring musical one out of five stars that you and Daniel finally started dating.”

“GREAT,” Seongwoo replies, perhaps too loudly. The acoustics in the auditorium are kind of skewing his sense of hearing for some reason. That, or the blood rush to his head is really just not doing him any good in excess. “THANKS.” 

Jaehwan _mhms_ noncommittally, much more engrossed in texting. More like _sulking_. 

“This is great,” Seongwoo says. “This is so fun. I’m so glad we could spend this time together, Jaehwan.”

“This is punishment,” Jaehwan replies. “You told Minhyunnie hyung before you told me. Maybe if you want to get down from there, you should call your _best friend Hwang Minhyun_ for help. Traitor.”

“So much fun,” echoes Seongwoo. “Just so much fun. Time of my life.” 

The doors clatter open and Seongwoo has to physically force his body into a spin to be able to see who the uninvited visitor is.

“Wow,” says none other than Kang Daniel. There’s a goofy, toothy, smile on his face as he makes his way across the auditorium, heaving himself up onto the stage with little effort. He brushes himself off and slows his stride to a stop in front of Seongwoo and Jaehwan. "Just hangin' out?" he jokes.

“Don’t interrupt,” Jaehwan says. “This is divine punishment.” 

“You have class right now,” Seongwoo chooses to points out instead. "Unless I'm reading the clock wrong, which could be possible! Anything's possible when you're upside down and the entire world is an enigma."

Daniel shrugs and positions his hands on Seongwoo’s shoulders, too-poised and too-ready to help him out of yet another Upside Down Quandary. It really is like tradition or something—a monthly routine of sorts. 

“You have his schedule memorized,” Jaehwan deadpans. “That’s so gross.”

"But Jaehwan," Seongwoo says dryly, reaching upward to grab at the cord he's been trapped by. "How would I be able to time my elaborate and passionate make-out sessions with Daniel if I _don't_ know his schedule down to a T?"

"You just, you just knew he was here," continues Jaehwan, pointing an accusatory finger at Daniel. "That's even grosser."

“What can I say?” Daniel grins. “My Seongwoo senses were tingling.” 

And really, Seongwoo’s half-embarrassed and half-embarrassingly-bashful ( _fucking bashful_ ) because Daniel has a way of making the butterflies in his stomach multiply in size and in number instantaneously. He tries to hide the smile on his lips but he's bad with maintaining his expression when he’s pleased with himself and Jaehwan’s known him for too long to miss the twinkle in Seongwoo's eyes anyway. 

“I,” Jaehwan begins, “am disgusted.”

“It’s love,” Seongwoo sing-songs, mostly to cover up the fact that it really is love. “This is l—ow _fuck_ , blood rush.” 

“This is punishment,” Jaehwan announces for the nth time in a row, gazing up at the ceiling, eyes soulless. “I am being punished.”

**Author's Note:**

> it was supposed to be just a spider-man au but then i accidentally also got influenced by superman... and batman... sorry.
> 
> anyway: [here's](https://twitter.com/Ongforyou0825/status/918288808617041920) [why](https://twitter.com/Ongforyou0825/status/918289250415665152) [i had ](https://twitter.com/Ongforyou0825/status/918327573741834243)[to](https://twitter.com/Ongforyou0825/status/931828395209474048) [write it](https://twitter.com/Ongforyou0825/status/931839580797415424). 
> 
> i'm sry. i give up. happy holidays.


End file.
